


A Dream Away

by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions)



Series: Adventure of a Lifetime [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: De-Aged Shiro (Voltron), Gen, Philosophy and ethics 101, Prompt Fic, Sickfic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-10-02 13:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 22,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10219178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticReactions/pseuds/BossToaster
Summary: The Gen fics from my1000 Followers Special.





	1. Hunk & Shiro, “Don’t cry”

Sometimes, it was the comedown after that was the hardest.

Shiro was relatively used to that.  He’d been known for coming up with  _ creative _ solutions for errors in the simulators or test flights back at the Garrison, and sometimes the facts that he’d pulled off something that could well have killed him didn’t hit until after, when the adrenaline was wearing off and life felt back into normalcy.

More than once, Shiro helped Keith through it too, usually for different reasons.  He was never bothered by stunts, but the catch of his temper was like igniting gunpowder.  Keith would go off, sometimes at other people.  He was almost never the cause, but he was almost always the escalation, and it was the source of most of the black marks on his records.  Shiro had made it a habit to track him down later, when the anger was starting to burn off but whatever had caused it was still festering, and Keith would grit his teeth and power through and try to act like there was no pain he couldn’t walk off.

So when Shiro heard hitching breaths in an otherwise quiet room, he had a pretty good idea what was causing them.

Knocking on the door, Shiro waited until Hunk picked his head up.  “Hey.”

“Shiro,” Hunk managed, hastily rubbing his sleeve over his eyes.  He stood, nearly losing his balance from how quickly he did it.  “Sorry, I dropped something and it rolled in here-”

Stepping forward, Shiro offered a sad smile.  “I get it.  You don’t have to hide.”

Hunk’s expression collapsed back on itself.  “No, it’s fine.  I’m fine.  It wasn’t that big a deal, and I did it, right?  Lance said it was cool.”

“Leading that many enemies on a chase that long was very cool,” Shiro replied gently, taking another step closer.  “Doesn’t mean it wasn’t terrifying, either.  There were a lot of close calls.  I was pretty worried for you.”

Head snapping up, Hunk bit his bottom lip.  “You didn’t think I could do it?”

Oh, jeez.  “Not that,” Shiro replied.  “I’m always worried for you guys when you’re up to something.  You all are making my hair turn white.”

It was a tired joke, but it still made Hunk’s lips curl up.  “It was already white,” he muttered back.

Reaching over, Shiro waited until Hunk would see him before wrapping an arm around his shoulders.  “It’s alright, you know.  I’ve been freaked out after a stunt too.  I once went into a spin when I was trying to correct my course, and I spent the entire rest of the evening in my room with my head between my knees so I wouldn’t throw up.”

“Yeah?”  Hunk glanced up at him hopefully, eyes still shiny and wet.

“Of course.”  The room Hunk had ducked into seemed to be one of the guest quarters, so Shiro lead them over to the bed to sit.  “Everyone does.  When you’re in the moment, you can’t really react the way you’re supposed to, so it all hits you after when you’re safe.  So it’s okay, now.”

Expression crumpling up, Hunk nodded and then surged forward.  He nearly shoved his face into Shiro’s shoulder, and his hands grabbed Shiro’s biceps, holding on as he started to let out wet, catching breaths.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Shiro murmured softly.  Something in his chest melted and ached at the same time, and he moved closer to wrap his arms around Hunk.  It dislodged his grip, and Hunk grabbed Shiro’s vest instead.  “It’s alright, you’re safe now.  It’s over, it’s all fine.  Don’t cry, everyone’s safe now, just like you.”

“I can’t help it,” Hunk muttered back, his voice ragged and pitched high.  

Sighing, Shiro rested his chin on top of Hunk’s head, rocking them both.  “If you need to cry, alright, but you’re  _ safe.” _

It never grew to full-fledged sobs, but Hunk shuddered and gasped into Shiro’s shoulder, and the shirt grew damp below him.  Shiro continued to murmur through it, squeezing tighter whenever his chest felt too heavy.  He hated to watch any of his team suffer, but it seemed to need to come out.

Eventually, the sniffles slowed and stopped, and Hunk pulled his face away, rubbing his cheeks with a sleeve.  “I’m sorry,” he said.

“No need to apologize,” Shiro told him.  “You needed it.  And I feel better for getting to make sure you’re okay, so you’re really helping me out.”

Hunk shot him a tremulous smile, but nodded.  He glanced around, then frowned.  “You know, it’s pretty annoying that these guest rooms have bathrooms and our quarters don’t.”

Nodding seriously, Shiro sighed.  “It really is a bother.  I feel like I’m back in the first year dorms at the Garrison.”

Hunk nodded, nose crinkled.  “So much for elite warriors.  I’m gunna take advantage and clean up where no one can see me.”

“If they tease, they can answer to me,” Shiro replied, but he patted Hunk’s shoulder as he stood.  “And I think you’ll be surprised at how many people that’s happened to.”

Considering him, Hunk nodded.  “Yeah.  You’re probably right.”

“I’m absolutely right,” Shiro replied flatly.  “Trust me.”

Hunk glanced at him, curious, but then nodded and slipped into the bathroom.

Once the door was closed, Shiro let out a shaky breath of his own and flopped backwards on the bed, his eyes pressed closed.

Hunk was fine.  Hunk was okay, he’d gotten out, they were all safe.  Hunk had just vented, nothing was wrong.

Don’t cry.

Not when his team needed him, even just one member.

Shiro was still taking deep, measured breaths when Hunk stepped back out.  “Did you fall asleep that fast?  Wait, no, you’re not snoring, you’re awake.”

“I don’t snore,” Shiro insisted, because being jokingly grumpy was good for hiding any tightness to his voice.  “I am a peaceful delight in my sleep.”

“A peaceful delight with a snore like a lawnmower.”  Hunk sat back down, then eyed him.  “I was about to get dinner started.  Can I trust you to cut things and stir without causing a disaster?”

“Probably not, but I’ll do my best.”

Hunk nodded.  “Good enough.  C’mon, I found something that’s kinda cheesy tasting, and I’ll pretend I don’t see when you sneak some to eat.”

Grinning, Shiro sat back up.  “You’re the delight,” he told Hunk, just for the easy smile he got in return.  “If you’re really, really specific I can probably manage not to screw up too badly.”

“What a vote of confidence.”  Hunk took Shiro’s wrist in his hand and he started to walk, already chatting on, using words like broil and julianne that sounded familiar but that Shiro was utterly clueless around.

He got the feeling Hunk felt better for having him close.

Well, good.  Shiro would stick around as long as he wanted, then.


	2. Smol!Shiro, 83

Shiro had disappeared.

Normally, that wasn’t that weird.  Shiro had a tendency to duck out of rooms quietly.  Mostly likely, that was due to not particularly wanting to make a fuss about leaving when he was feeling awkward or overwhelmed, but Hunk liked to think that Shiro was just doing his best Batman impression.

Today, though.  Today it was weird, because Shiro had been supposed to stay in sight.

After all, there were lots of places a six year old could get hurt or stuck in.  Even when they didn’t feel like a six year old.

Maybe they should have expected it.  Shiro despised feeling helpless, and hated being seen as vulnerable.  The other times he’d been brought down to the size of a child, he’d been pretty damn good about it, but that persistent glitch of the pods had to be wearing down his patience.

Still, no one had felt the need to keep a special eye on him.  He was still Shiro, after all, at least in mind.  He was supposed to be the responsible one.

Apparently not.

Rather than kicking up a fuss, Hunk slipped out quietly as well, leaving in the middle of Pidge’s story about how she and Matt once got stuck on the roof of their garage.  Hunk glanced around the hallway, but none of the open rooms had Shiro in them.  He could have been in one of the closed ones, but Hunk hoped that wasn’t the case; checking every single cranny a child could fit into would take forever, so he was just going to assume Shiro was someplace not too hard to find.

There was a clatter up ahead, and Hunk smiled grimly.  Or he could just follow the noises.

Turned out, Shiro wasn’t in any of the guest quarters or side rooms, but in the kitchen.  One of the chairs had been pushed over to the counter, and Shiro was standing with one foot barely touching the edge.  The other dangled in the air, while both hands gripped onto a cabinet door, which hung at a crooked angle.

Looked like the top hinge had broken, probably from the weight of a six year old hanging off of it.

Mostly likely, Shiro had tried to go for the cups inside, had slipped from his changed balance, and had tried to catch himself on the cabinet, and instead just broke it.

“Need some help, there?”

Shiro jumped at the sudden noise, his head whipping around to gape at Hunk.  The move made his last foot slip as well, until Shiro was dangling from just the handle.  It broke the rest of the way, and he and it both crashed to the ground.

Oh  _ shit. _  “Shiro!”  Hunk called, racing over to him.  He pushed the broken door out of the way to look over Shiro, who was already pushing himself back up to a sitting position.  “Are you okay? What were you  _ thinking?” _

“I was thinking the counters are way too high,” Shiro admitted, an edge of a sulk to his voice.  He shot a dark look back up, but with his round face it mostly looked like a pout.  “I’m alright.  A little bruised.  My pride more than anything.  I fell on the Galra arm, and it can take some punishment.”

Technically, it was a reasonable thing to say, and Hunk knew Shiro could take much worse falls than that, even counting for size.  That didn’t help the image of Shiro as a child, ruffled and unhappy, half-crumpled on the ground.

Pulling him closer, Hunk grabbed hold of the bottom of Shiro’s borrowed sweater, then froze before he yanked it up.  Right.  Permission.  “Mind if I take a look?”

Shiro stayed suspiciously quiet, then gave a jerky nod.  “Yeah,” he replied, and his voice was a shade  _ too _ normal.  “But I’m fine.  I did more damage to your kitchen than anything.”

There was a lot Hunk could say to that, but for now he just tugged Shiro’s shirt up.  His right side looked a little red, and Hunk ran gentle fingers over it, huge compared to the slight frame.  The touch made Shiro still, which meant it probably hurt and he was trying to hide it, but he was reasonable enough to mention if anything was seriously wrong.  Probably just bruises, like he’d said.  “Well, you’re gunna hurt tomorrow, that’s for sure.  Maybe that’s a lesson about climbing up things you’re not supposed to.”

“If I didn’t climb things I wasn’t supposed to, I’d have died in the arena,” Shiro replied, voice flat.  Then he froze, eyes widening with horror.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

No kidding.  Hunk’s chest tightened, and he took a deep breath.  “Maybe,” he allowed.  “But this isn’t life or death.  If you wanted a glass you could ask for help.”

“You were busy,” Shiro replied quietly.  “I didn’t want to interrupt. And I needed a second anyway. Things are always a little close to the surface, like this.”

Hunk honestly wouldn’t have guessed that, from the way Shiro still stubbornly controlled his tone and expression.  But it made sense, when he thought back to that first time.  “Even so.  You know we’re here to help.”

That only made Shiro lean back against the side of the counter, expression darkening.  “I shouldn’t need help.”

“We all need help sometimes.  You’re injured, basically.”

Pushing himself to his feet, Shiro glanced at Hunk, them moved over to pick up the discarded door.  “I’ll deal with this,” he announced, voice hardening with determination.  “You can head back.”

Yeah, because Hunk was going to do that when Shiro had nearly cracked his head open on the floor.  Crossing his arms, Hunk eyed him.  “And how are you going to reach the top hinge?”

Glancing up, Shiro frowned, eyes calculating.  “If I can get on top of the cabinets I can just lean down.”

“And fall from there instead?   _ Shiro.” _

Shiro whirled on him, lips pulled back in a snarl.  “And what else am I supposed to do?” He demanded, damn near a shout.  His whole body was tense, but the way his chin jutted out hinted that he was hiding a shaking lower lip.

Holding out a hand, Hunk steadied the cabinet door before Shiro’s smaller hands could drop it.  “You could ask me to do it.”

“I don’t want-” Shiro cut himself off, realizing quickly how childish that sounded.  He hugged the door in closer, clutching it to his chest as much as he could when it was nearly as tall as he was, and his eyes slammed shut.  “I can...”

“You’d figure it out,” Hunk allowed softly.  “But you don’t have to.  Come here, let me fix it for you.”

Taking a deep breath, Shiro stepped forward and pressed the door into Hunk’s hands, his small fingers trembling.  His eyes stayed firmly closed.  “Fine.  You do it.”  There was defeat in the slump of his shoulders and the way he hung his head.

Hunk had never meant for this to be losing.

Reaching out, he rested a hand on the back of Shiro’s head, huge and heavy in comparison.  “It’s okay.  Shiro, it’s  _ okay _ .  Why is this so hard for you?”

“I shouldn’t need to do this,” Shiro replied, voice small.  “I could do it before.”

There was context here that Hunk was missing, but it wasn’t time for that.  Instead, he pulled Shiro closer, a gentle, encouraging press, until he took a step forward, and then another.  And then Shiro’s head met Hunk’s chest.  He curled into it, a fine tremble running through him, and Hunk shushed him gently. “It’s okay.  It’s all close, right?  Just let it out.”

Shiro didn’t cry, not really, but he did let himself be tucked basically into Hunk’s lap, legs curled up on himself.  For a long moment, he let himself lean, let himself relax and breathe, let Hunk soothe him.  “I hate giving up.”

“It’s not giving up,” Hunk told him.  “It’s using all your resources, and its good distribution of labor.  All very reasonable things for our leader to ask for.”

Shiro snorted, surprisingly bitter.  “Some leader.”

He probably meant his size, but Hunk scowled and hugged him closer anyway.  “An amazing leader.  The best.”

There was no reply, but Shiro held on tighter and continued to tremble.

Eventually, he pulled back, and Hunk was able to pull out his toolkit from his side pouch and reattach the cabinet door like nothing had happened, once he dug up some replacement screws.  Shiro sat on the counter, his glass of water in one hand, passing up whatever Hunk asked for with a patience no real six year old would have.

“There, good as new,” Hunk told him, packing it all away.  “Ready to head back?”

Shiro nodded and hopped down, his Galra hand covering the top of the glass to keep it from splashing out.  “Yeah, I’m ready.”  Absently, he held the hand for Hunk to take.

Hunk smiled as he took it and didn’t say a word.


	3. Shiro & Pidge, 26

As time went on, it became more and more common for Shiro to let his guard down.  It took weeks for him to even doze with the door open, much less with another living being in the room.  Even the mice moving around could wake him on a bad day.  Or he’d let the responsible leader thing drop for a few seconds, cracking a dark joke or goofing off with the rest of them.

Those were the times Pidge liked best.  She understood and respected the need to be their commander some of the time, especially during missions or training.  There was the big picture they needed to be focused on, and Shiro seemed to make it his personal goal to make sure they were always moving toward that. 

But Pidge didn’t really want to be a military unit.  Yes, it had its uses, and she couldn’t deny the effectiveness of the hierarchy in the field.  It had its place, but it wasn’t what made Pidge stick around.  Some days, the urge to give it all up and go searching for her family was still strong.  It wasn’t Voltron or the universe that made her stay.  It was the times they were a different kind of family that kept her around.

Which was why Pidge maybe didn’t take Shiro’s wariness very seriously.  Mind, she got  _ why, _ because Shiro had been vulnerable in the worst way possible.  But he was downright afraid of it, acting like he’d let them down each time he managed to nod off during a movie.  As if by closing his eyes for too long he’d put them all in terrible danger.

Some of Shiro’s thoughts weren’t always rational, after all.  And he’d never hurt anyone, no matter how often it happened.

So when Shiro dropped off on the couch, sprawled out with his bowl of snacks balancing on his chest, Pidge didn’t think anything of it.  She was used to working through his snores, and even if not, she didn’t mind the sound.  It was audible proof of his trust in them and his relaxation.  So Pidge didn’t even pause the project she was working on, continuing to sketch out vague schematics for bots she probably wouldn’t build.  Most of them were fantasy, based on pure laziness, like one that would carry her around if she felt like it.  Just to see what she could come up with for that.

Pidge also didn’t think twice about reaching over to steal from the bowl, because she was hungry and Shiro wasn’t eating it anyway, and those weird meaty-tasting cereal thingies were so weird she kept wanting to try them and make  _ sure _ they still tasted like beef.

Except Shiro must not have been as out as she thought, because when Pidge’s hand touched the bowl, his eyes snapped open.

Before Pidge could react to that, even just to open her mouth to apologize, Shiro grabbed onto her arm and  _ pulled, _ dragging her completely off balance with the pain and force of it.  Rolling with the sudden momentum, Shiro rolled them both to the floor, Pidge taking the weight of him in the fall.  He twisted her arm up with a yank that threatened to rip it from the socket, and the Galra arm activated with a dangerous buzz, pressed against her throat.  His eyes were locked on her but unfocused, and his lips pulled back into a snarl.

In less than a second, Pidge had gone from relaxing with Shiro to bruised, winded and threatened with a deadly weapon.

“Shiro?” She managed, instinctively pushing herself away from the heat of the arm.  Sweat was already breaking out, and her breath came fast as all her instincts screamed to  _ get away. _  “Shiro!”

Finally, his gaze cleared, and Shiro yanked himself away like he was the one in danger of getting burned.  He scrambled away on his hands, until there was at least a few feet between them.  “Pidge?  Oh, god, I’m so sorry-”

“I’m sorry, I was just reaching for the snacks, I didn’t think-”

“-I shouldn’t have fallen asleep here. What was I  _ thinking?-” _

“-of course you would react like that with food, I didn’t mean to disturb you-”

“-I could have  _ killed _ you!”

The force of the cry finally cut off Pidge’s rambles, and she stared at Shiro again, finally recognizing that while he was aware, he wasn’t  _ all there. _

“I could have- oh, god, I nearly- a-and I could have broken your ribs on the way down and I nearly ripped your throat open, I’m so sorry.  I didn’t- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”  Shiro’s hands slid into his hair, fingers clutching as tight as they could on the short strands.  Then his head came up, so sudden and desperate that Pidge flinched away from him.

The look at his face was nothing short of horrified.  

Pulling his legs in against his chest, Shiro took a deep breath.  It seemed to center him, somewhat, and Pidge could see the way he pulled his leadership persona back on.  “Do you need a pod?  I can call for Coran and Allura, they’ll be able to help you down.”

“I’m fine,” Pidge replied carefully, fingers brushing over her neck to be sure.  The hand had never actually touched her, just a display of deadly force.

A very effective one.  Pidge wasn’t going to be trying to take anything off Shiro’s plate for awhile.

But Shiro didn’t seem convinced.  He shook his head and stood, swaying visibly.  And if that wasn’t proof of how messed up he was right now, Pidge didn’t know what was.  “Your ribs might have been damaged from that fall.  Coran will be able to scan to tell us-”

“Shiro.  I’m  _ fine. _  It was like, two feet, and you’re heavy but you’re not  _ that _ heavy.”  Pidge stood as well, hovering a few feet away.  She wasn’t sure what to do here, wasn’t good with people in the way someone like Hunk or Lance was.  Even Keith, with his longer relationship with Shiro, would have a better idea what to do to crack through this mania.

Or maybe he wouldn’t.  It wasn’t like Shiro had been this way before, probably.

When Pidge took a step forward, Shiro matched it in the opposite direction, leaning back from her like she was going to go after him with the bayard.  “It doesn’t hurt to get it checked out.”

Pidge narrowed her eyes.  “Why are you so determined to think I was hurt?  Or to get Coran and Allura here?”  

Shiro flinched.

He probably wanted supervision.  He probably wanted distance, someone to come in and take the situation out of his hands, to take care of her while he continued to freak out.

Well, tough shit.

“I’m not scared of you.”

Shiro froze, then he shot her a flat look.  “Of course not,” he said, and he didn’t sound like he believed her.  He sounded like he was placating her.  Pidge’s entire body locked up from the sudden swell of range.  How  _ dare _ he be that condescending?  “But that doesn’t mean you’re not hurt, so-”

He was cut off when Pidge yanked a pillow off the couch and lobbed it at his head.  It bounced off harmlessly, and Shiro stared at her.  “I’m  _ not scared of you.  _ You haven’t done anything I haven’t seen you do on an enemy.  We always knew you could do that, and I should have known better.”

“You shouldn’t have to!” Shiro snapped back,  _ finally _ engaging with her words, for the first time since he’d woken up.  “I shouldn’t put you in a position where you could have been killed!  There’s no excuse for your commanding officer pointing a weapon at you,  _ ever.” _

Pidge bared her teeth.  “You’re not just my commanding officer, so screw that.”

“That’s  _ worse!” _  Shiro snarled, leaning closer.  Pidge paused, because hearing Shiro shout like that was startling from sheer volume.  It was startling to realize how rarely he raised his voice outside of the comms.  “How many of you am I going to hurt?”

How many... members of the team?

Or members of her family?

Judging by the sudden slump of Shiro’s shoulders, probably the latter.

He took a deep breath, once again drawing himself in, pulling himself back.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Probably,” Pidge agreed, because denying it would only make him pull back harder.  “But you did anyway.  You didn’t hurt me.  You startled me, but you’ve thrown me harder in practice, honestly.  And you hurt Matt to save him.  So, net points here, you’re still in the green.”

Shiro glanced at her, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips.  “Very utilitarian.”

“Someone has to balance out all your Kantian melodrama,” Pidge shot back.  This time, when she took a step forward, he didn’t back away.  “I’m okay.  You can check for yourself if you want.  I’m sorry for startling you.  But there are things you can’t help, and if you take this as a reason not to relax around us again, I’m going to jam that bowl of cereal on your stupid head.”

Shiro frowned.  “I think we’ve proven today what a bad idea that is.”

“I’m alive,” PIdge pointed out.  “You pinned me.  You recognized it was me quickly.  And, Shiro, you have every chance to do serious damage, and the worst you did was pin my arm.  Even when I startled you awake  _ and _ went for your food, all you did was scare me.  You held back in a worst case scenario.  You  _ didn’t hurt me.” _

For the first time, something seemed to really connect.  Shiro’s eyes widened, and his hands worked by his side.  “I didn’t.”  It wasn’t a question, but Pidge nodded anyway.  “Oh.”

Good, he was finally getting it.  “At your core, you didn’t want to hurt me, so you didn’t.  You put me in a position where I couldn’t hurt you and you could scare me off.  That’s not the actions of someone fundamentally violent.”

Shiro seemed to rally, and his brow furrowed.  “Doesn’t mean I couldn’t have hurt you by accident.”

“Yeah, and you could accidentally knock me in the halls and crack my head on a wall,” Pidge pointed.  “Accidents are life.  And if you do that, or if you get me with the arm while you’re out of it, then I pre-emptively forgive you.”

Shaking his head, Shiro frowned.  “You can’t do that.”

Pidge just stared back, arms crossed.  “Try and stop me.  Now, will you be bothered if I hug you, right now?”

“You can’t want-”

“What I don’t want is for you to finish that very stupid sentence.”

Swallowing, Shiro nodded.  “Good call.  You-”  He stared at her in something like awe, then opened his arms.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Pidge stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.  After a moment, he returned the gesture, cheek resting on top of her head.

There was a slight lie, there.  Pidge wasn’t afraid of him, but she had been afraid.  If being pinned like that showed up in her dreams tonight, it wouldn’t be a shock.

But Pidge could deal with that, if it meant Shiro didn’t stop acting like what he was: family.

Because that was the reason she stayed.  It was the reason they worked.  And Pidge was willing to bend the truth to keep it.


	4. Shiro & Colleen Holt - "I'll Drive You to the Hospital"

Shiro wasn’t sure how he’d gotten to the point where Earth felt surreal, but here he was.

It had been a week going back and forth between the Garrison, Washington DC and New York.  A week of first proving they were alive, then proving they were safe, then proving they were right.  A week of hearing the words ‘pilot error’, which still sent a jolt of cold betrayal through him with every utterance.  And it was amazing how people still clung to that story: they’d had years to absorb it, and even seeing Shiro, Sam and Matt alive somehow didn’t shake it.  Instead, they believed Shiro’s pilot error had gotten them captured.

Shiro really didn’t like that assumption.

Matt and Sam seemed to  _ hate _ it.

Finally, they’d been allowed to head home.  And Shiro had been invited to go along with the Holts immediately, but he’d refused.  For one, Dr. Holt deserved at least some one-on-one time with her actual family, no matter how often he was told that he belonged there.  It was about her getting to reconnect, not Shiro.

That and he’d had a goal.

Instead, Shiro had gone along with Lance and Hunk as each of them made their way home.  And he’d taken the chance to speak with their family as much as possible, to let them understand exactly what Hunk and Lance had been up to, what they’d overcome, that they were heroes.

And, well, if it gave them someone to yell at and blame for their children’s disappearance, Shiro was willing to fill that roll.  Better to let them get it out at a stranger, rather than make Lance and Hunk spend some of this precious family time fighting.

Luckily, there hadn’t been much of that at all.

Then, Shiro had spent the next day with Keith, both of them working up on packing everything in his shack up to take back with them this time, as well as enjoying spending as much of the money Shiro had technically earned while MIA as well as what was left of his savings.  It wasn’t like he was staying on Earth to use it.

After, Shiro had finally agreed to go spend some time with the Holts.  Keith had been invited, but he’d bowed out, and Shiro didn’t really blame him.  Introverted as he was, a few days to himself to resettle on Earth wasn’t the worst thing, especially with the red lion just a thought away.

Now, he was here.  And despite Shiro’s fears and misgivings, he’d been folded into hugs and dragged around to see family albums.  Dr. Holt (Colleen, he was supposed to call her Colleen, but it was actually harder than switching to ‘Sam’) had been nothing but welcoming and amused at Shiro’s presence.

Still, it had only been a day.  That might change yet.

Sam would tell him this was Shiro being fatalistic, that he was talking himself out of rationality.  Shiro mentally told Sam to bite it.

It was those thoughts,and a general unwillingness to wake the house with his nightmares that kept Shiro awake that night.  He wandered downstairs, and spent a few minutes petting a sleepy, elderly Gunter, who tolerated the attention with aplomb.  Then he wandered into the kitchen, for a lack of anything else to do.

The room was pristine and clean, mostly from lack of use.  Shiro wasn’t sure if that had more to do with her missing family or the entire clan’s general incompetence at cooking.  But it at least had interesting nick-nacks, like the T-rex salt and pepper shakers, and Shiro spent a few minutes looking around just to pass the time in a way that didn’t involve staring at a dark ceiling.

“You know, we have television.”

Shiro jumped nearly a mile in the air and spun, grabbing a knife out of the block in instinct.

Dr. Colleen Holt eyed him right back, one brow raised.  “I don’t think that’s your most effective weapon.  The bread knife would probably be better.”

Well, three guesses where Matt’s sense of humor came from, not to mention Pidge’s bland form of bravery.

“I’m so sorry,” Shiro muttered, holding the knife loosely in his hands as he slumped.  “I didn’t hear you coming in.  Did I wake you?”

Colleen shrugged one shoulder.  “I have a light step.  And no, I was awake.”  She offered a thin smile that highlighted the bags under her eyes.  “I’m not used to sleeping with another person in my bed anymore.”

Wincing, Shiro nodded.  “Oh.”  That made sense.  Shiro had taken a long time to readapt to people in the room, much less in the same bed.  “I’m sorry.  Well, that you can’t sleep, not that- oh, forget it.”

Luckily, Colleen just chuckled and stepped forward.  “I understand what you mean, don’t worry.  Why are you awake, then?”

“I don’t sleep well,” Shiro replied honestly, because it was far, far too easy for her to double check with Sam, and he wouldn’t lie to her.  “Especially in new environments.”

Colleen nodded, eyes tracking over the scar on Shiro’s nose.  He resisted the stupid urge to cover it.  “I imagine so.  You all have seen a lot, no doubt.”

“We have,” Shiro agreed softly.  “More than enough.”  Meeting her eyes in the gloom, Shiro took a deep breath.  “I’m sorry for that.”

“For having seen a lot?” Colleen replied, voice flat and sounding so very much like Matt that Shiro almost glanced behind her to make sure he hadn’t woken up.  “That doesn’t sound very useful.”

Shiro shook his head.  “For getting them involved.  For taking them from you.”

There was silence for a moment, as Colleen stared at him.  Then she snorted, loud enough that Shiro jumped.  “You didn’t take them from me, are you kidding me?  I was left behind.  No more of that, I promise you.  The rest we’ll deal with.  And I know for a fact my children would have your ass for saying something like that.”

It was true, and Shiro’s lips quirked up.  “Probably,” he admitted.  “I should say it anyway.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” Colleen shot back, flapping a hand at him.  “You were abducted.  By literal aliens.  Several times, in several forms. Including robot lions.”  Her expression tightened in uncomfortable confusion, and Shiro let that run off him.  Matt and Sam had the same reaction, once.  It was weird from the outside.  It was just hard to remember.  “Now, if we’re both not going to sleep, how about we take advantage of that television I mentioned?  But please put the knife back first.”

Oh, right.  Shiro glanced down at the knife, dropping it from the defensive hold.  It flashed in his hand, a practice move he didn’t remember learning, and nearly sliced open his human palm in the process.  Hmm. Weird.  These weren’t particularly good for this, it seemed.

Well, understandably.

Noticing Colleen’s wide-eyed look, Shiro finally shoved it back in the block.  “Sorry about that.”  He held up his hands, to prove he was as unarmed as he ever got.

“Oh.  I thought you’d sliced your hand open there.”  Colleen let out a low breath.  “I was getting ready to get you to the car to drive you to the hospital, and trying to figure out how to keep them from getting distracted by the uncut metal hand.”

Shiro straightened just slightly.  “That wouldn't be necessary.  It’s the middle of the night.”

“Oh for- Lieutenant, I would absolutely drive your ass to the hospital even if the rest of my family hadn’t adopted you, and even if you hadn’t spent the past several years keeping them safe, and even if you hadn’t saved my son’s damn life.  So next time?  When I say ‘I’ll drive you to the hospital’, you say ‘good plan’ and you get in the car.”

And  _ that _ was Pidge.

“Yes, ma’am,” Shiro replied, amused despite himself.  “How about in the future I stop messing with your knives instead?”

Colleen inclined her head.  “Might be wise.  I don’t know how long it’s been since they were sharpened.  Best not to test it on yourself.  Now, couch?  I’m sure there’s some movies or TV shows you want to catch up on.  Might as well use this time well.”

Shiro smiled and nodded.  “One condition.  If I have to train myself to call you Colleen, you have to call me by my name too.”

“That’s your condition?  Goodness, you need better negotiating skills.”

That made Shiro shrug.  “Lance is our diplomat, not me.”

Chuckling, Colleen motioned for him to step out of the kitchen.  “Fair enough. Takashi. Now, pick your poison and I’ll see if I can’t pull up some episodes.”

Following behind her, Shiro mused that he really was doomed to be adopted by the Holt clan.  Especially since the second they sat down, Gunter dragged himself to his feet and hopped up as well, flopping between them for optimal petting.

Eh. There were worse fates.


	5. Black Lion!Shiro, 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on Demenior's idea of Shiro coming back from the Astral Plane post S2 essentially merged with the personality of the Black Lion.

It was a hard adjustment for everyone.

They’d gotten Shiro back.  That had been the important thing, at the time.  Get him back, get the lion working again, make life normal again.  Damn everything else in the universe.

After weeks of work, of studying the strange energy patterns of the Black Lion, using Allura’s energy stores and every scrap of knowledge they could wring out of Slav, they pulled him out of that strange astral plane and back into reality at the same moment the Black Lion’s eyes lit up for the first time since the battle.

Shiro was back.  With more white hair and quieter than usual, but who could blame him?  He’d been trapped for  _ weeks _ without even a physical body.  Who knew what that had done to him?

Except it quickly became obvious that more had changed than they’d thought.  

They were sure of that the first time Shiro’s eyes had glowed golden and his bayard had activated into a pair of wings to match those on the lion, when he snarled like a beast and  _ leap _ onto a training bot that had swiped at Pidge, hand slashing down like claws.  When after he circled them like a protective animal, lips curled back in a snarl, still without a single word.

After, he crowded each of them individually, hands running over their backs and sides in search of any injuries.  When Shiro found a scrape on Keith’s arm from where he’d been tossed across the room, he yanked him closer and wouldn’t let Keith get away until he was absolutely satisfied the wound wasn’t serious.  Then he spent a few minutes running his fingers through Keith’s hair, untangling any knots, before he was finally allowed to go free.

The Shiro they got wasn’t just Shiro.  He was the Black Lion too, a gradient mix that changed from day to day.  There would be times where he was the same easy, calm Shiro they relied on, quiet and reserved but warm.  There were days he was regal and held himself tall, eyes sharp and voice monotone, not quite sure what to do with this physical form and why he wasn’t listened to with immediate, military, mechanical precision.

It was a hard adjustment.  Especially on the more Black Lion days.

Today was one of those.

Pidge found Shiro curled up in a chair, folded so his knees propped against the kitchen table and a plate balanced between his chest and the meat of his thighs.  How it stayed up, Pidge wasn’t sure, other than that Shiro seemed to have cracked the code to how cats became so liquid.

When she came close, his eyes darted up to her and narrowed, nearly bristling with the intensity of it.

Fair enough, no sharing.  They’d all learned not to steal Shiro’s food anyway, after a few incidents where Shiro had been distracted and nearly stabbed the offender with a fork.  Now he was just more open about it, really.  And, well, aggressive.

Pidge wasn’t really a fan of getting growled at by anything, much less Shiro.  But it was better than the alternative.

Eyeing the slice of not-actually-cake-but-close-enough, Pidge walked to the fridge and pulled it open.  Hunk had been stress baking a lot as they all adjusted to the new status quo.  Lately, it had started to taper off, which meant their supplies were running low.

The platter with the rest of it was completely gone, and a quick check showed it was sitting in the sink to be put away.

Damn.  It was absurd, but Pidge had been looking forward to a slice. She’d only had a small one last night, full from the rest of dinner and not really in the mood for something sweet, but she’d been craving another all day, and it finding out she was too late was a blow.

Which, okay, probably didn’t warrant how it made Pidge’s stomach drop, but sometimes it was the little things that made bigger problems feel more tolerable.  And right now, there were a lot of bigger problems.

And it was absurd and selfish, but normally Shiro wouldn’t take the last slice.  He’d either cut it in half again or leave it.  Pidge didn’t really mind Shiro staking a claim for once, but it was just another sign that he wasn’t  _ him _ anymore.

Taking a deep breath, Pidge closed the fridge door, biting the inside of her cheek.  It was better.  It was  _ better _ than Shiro being gone, she knew that, she felt it in her bones.  And yet-

“Pidge.”

The sound of Shiro’s voice actually made Pidge start.  She whirled around, eyes wide.  “Yes?”

Straightening up with a fluidity that made him look like he didn’t have bones, Shiro put the plate on the table and cut it through.  Then he pushed one half over to the edge of the plate, and moved the whole thing to sit between his chair and the next one over.  Then he nodded to it.  “You can have half.”

Maybe it wasn’t such a Black Lion day after all.  Or maybe they’d all underestimated the lions and what they did when blended with a human, because the honest worry and offer in his eyes made Pidge’s chest feel tight.

“Thank you,” She replied.  “Let me-” she darted into the kitchen to get a fork, then sat down and offered him a smile.  “I appreciate it.”

Rather than offer any more words, Shiro leaned forward, pressing his cheek to her shoulder.  He nuzzled like a cat scent-marking, then flopped warm and boneless against her side.

Pidge sighed.  “God, you came back weird.”  But she reached up with one hand to pet through his hair, enjoying the gleeful, relaxed groan he gave in response.  With her other hand, she picked up a fork and took a bite, lips curling up.

Even better than she’d remembered from yesterday.

Maybe it was the satisfaction of knowing Shiro was still in there, fussing and worrying, even when there were times he seemed so strange.  Or maybe it was just that she was in the right mood for it.

Either way, she appreciated it, just as much as she appreciated Shiro’s warm lean.  But not as much as she appreciated the soft snores as he almost immediately drifted off.

It was a sign of trust and acceptance.

Pidge was so glad to have Shiro back.


	6. Keith & Shiro, 13

“What was _that?”_ Lance burst out, sudden and startled.  “I- _woah._  Did anyone else see that?”

Hunk grunted as he yanked the Yellow Lion’s controls, dodging out of the way of laser fire.  “See what?  There’s lots of things to look at right now, you’re gunna have to be more specific.”

Over the intercoms, Keith could faintly hear tapping and beeping.  “Actually, I think I do.  There’s a little ship out there. Tiny thing.  Doesn’t look Galra.  What’s it doing there?”

“I dunno, but it’s getting in my way.  I keep trying to use the sonic blast but it- there, again!”  This time, Lance went quiet.  “Wait.  It’s not attacking me.”

“I hope not, it’s barely as big as one of the lion’s paws,” Keith replied, finally spotting the ship as it circled around.  This time it darted away from Lance, and a few of the ships turned out to follow it and fire, but none managed to get a lock.  “Definitely not one of theirs, look.  Princess, Coran?”

Coran let out a thoughtful noise.  “I don’t recognize the design, but look at them go.  I’m not sure what they think they’re doing, drawing all that attention in such a little craft, but they’re doing alright.  Attempting hailing now, but I suspect they’re a little busy at the moment.”

A traitorous thought took root in Keith’s head, and he swallowed hard.

Whoever that was, they were a hell of a pilot.  And there were billions of those in the universe.  But only one that Keith wanted it to be.

One that they hadn’t heard from in months.

“It doesn’t matter who that is,” Keith finally said, and hoped his voice came out normal instead of strangled.  “They’re helping us, so let’s take advantage of the distraction.  Lance, Pidge?”

On her display, Pidge nodded and finally looked away from her scans.  “Got it.”  She started to fire on the bunched together ships, letting one be taken over by vines, then start to tangle in the others.  Meanwhile, Lance focused away from the little ship, taking on the other fighter drones farther away with a sonic blast.

Once the little ship didn’t have so many tails, it twisted around darted back between them in a sickening looking roll.  It took the Galra ships much longer to react and turn around, by which point the little one had already darted back, hovering under Yellow.

“Ah, there we go.  Finally got communications.” Coran reported.  “Hello, there!”  

There was a pause, and a noise like someone was fumbling the console.  “I didn’t even know this thing had communications,” the familiar voice muttered.  “Nearly everything else on this hunk of junk is broken.  Hello, Coran, good to hear from you.”

There was a pause, and then chaos broke out.

“Shiro!”

“Is that- how did you...?”

“Good to hear from you too, Number One!”

“Where have you _been?”_

Taking a deep breath, Keith closed his eyes against the sudden wells of confusion, grief and relief.

That was Shiro.  And it _had_ to be Shiro, to fly like that.

“We’ve missed you,” Keith murmured despite himself, just as the rest of the din was starting to die.

There was a long pause after, and then a soft noise that sounded halfway between tears and a bark of laughter.  “Sorry I’m late,” Shiro finally replied, so soft and warm and _Shiro_ that listening to it made Keith’s chest hurt again.  “Let’s deal with this first.  I’ll keep distract them, and-”

The Yellow Lion suddenly moved, paws caging Shiro in.  “Oh, no, you are not pulling any more of these stunts.  We can handle this.  It’s barely a full fleet worth of ships.  We’ve done worse.  You are staying _safe_ until we can get you to a lion.”

Shiro paused again, probably from Hunk’s forceful tone.  “Huh.”  He seemed to be reevaluating for a moment, then he let out a small sigh.  “Um.  Okay?”

“Damn right,” Lance replied.  “We got this, don’t worry your pretty little head.  If you want to head back to the castle you can.”

“I- I’ll stay.”  Even without seeing him, Keith could imagine the wide-eyed look Shiro would be wearing, and could imagine the little fidgets as he watched.  It wasn’t something he’d seen in a long time, but it was how Shiro used to react to being knocked off balance at the Garrison.

Keith hadn’t realized how much he missed it.

They cleaned up the remaining ships quickly, even without Hunk moving from his spot.  Then they went through the process of getting a non-lion ship into the castle, before heading to their own hangars.

The second the Red Lion had landed, Keith started to run.

He burst into the main hangar area, already panting, just in time to see Shiro stepping out.  The first thing Keith noticed was that there was virtually no black left to Shiro’s hair, all of it the same shock-white as the bangs.  The second thing he noticed was his odd clothing, like he’d grabbed whatever sort of fit and run with it.

Actually, no, the first thing Keith noticed was that Shiro was _alive_ and he was _there._

For a moment, Keith could only stare.  Then Shiro looked over and smiled, brows up like he wasn’t quite sure of his welcome.

Well screw _that._

Bursting forward, Keith half-tackled Shiro, wrapping his arms around his chest and pulling him close, digging his fingers in to make sure he was real.  He was _real._

“Woah, there,” Shiro, stumbling for the force of it.  But he wrapped his arms back around Keith, holding him just as tightly.  “Hey.  I missed you too.”

Smiling into Shiro’s shoulder, Keith nodded.

Shiro still understood.

And now Keith had him back.

Everything else - the questions clamoring in his head, the interrogation about using the Red Lion instead of Black...

They could all wait.  Because he had this.  And that was the most important thing.


	7. Shiro & Sam, 26

It had been a long day, and it was barely mid-afternoon.

Sam wandered down the halls, hands in his pockets as he sighed.  

The reality of what they did was the need for training and developing resources.  Part of that was one-on-one training.  Shiro ran them every few weeks, checking individual progress and making sure no problems or weaknesses were developing.  It was standard by now, and something Sam approved of.  With how busy their lives were, the ritual and schedule of it was good, and it kept issues from falling to the wayside with everything else.

At least, Sam had approved until this afternoon.

After a full morning of target practice, hand-to-hand sparring and running drills, all of them had been exhausted.  But Shiro in particular had been going nonstop since breakfast, and he’d already looked ragged that morning.  It was a recipe for mistakes.

Eventually, inevitably, there had been one.

Keith was the last of the day, and he circled Shiro, eyes narrowed.  He, more than the others, seemed to be interested in not just outdoing himself, but taking Shiro down during their matches.  And that made sense.  For one, he’d been sparring with Shiro for years longer than the others, so he had more of a personal attachment for the idea.  For the rest, they knew the object of the game was just to demonstrate their skills, not to reach some personal greater goal.  But Keith had a drive to him, a tendency to push to his own standards and not to anyone else’s, even Shiro’s.

So he was the one that really pushed during these training sessions.  Keith ducked and weaved, a red and white blur ducking into Shiro’s space, trying to and occasionally succeeding in scoring hits.  And at that point, Shiro had been fine.  Visibly tired, yes, but engaged and offering advice.

Until Keith managed to get in against Shiro’s back, wrapping a hand around his neck as a grip.  Probably, he’d been trying to use it as a hand hold to get at his shoulders and head, but Keith hadn’t gotten the chance.

Instead, Shiro’s eyes had flashed, and even at the distance Sam was watching, he’d known Shiro’s mind wasn’t in control anymore.

Ducking, Shiro bent double and  _ bucked, _ making Keith lose the strength of his grip and start to topple over Shiro’s back and front.  Rather than let him fall, Shiro grabbed hold of Keith’s neck in return, snarling as he shoved him full force into the mat.  

Keith had cried out, probably more surprise than pain, but it had turned into fear as Shiro’s hand lit up and hovered just barely away from his face, claw-like.

“Shiro?”

It had taken several long, terrible seconds before Shiro suddenly jerked, aware of himself again.  Then he stumbled back, practically shoving himself away from Keith.  “I’m so sorry.  It was pure reaction.”

Keith sat up and winced, touching gently at his cheek.  Under his face, the skin was reddening quickly, probably burned from sheer close proximity.  “I shouldn’t have grabbed your throat like that, I wasn’t even thinking-”

“No!”  The strength of the yell made everyone in the room still, and Shiro shook his head.  “I shouldn’t have- I hurt you.  Let’s get you patched up.”

Then Shiro held out a hand for Keith to take, but flinched and jammed it back against his side.

He hadn’t spoken a single word until Keith was seen to, his cheek liberally slathered in burn cream.  When Sam went to look for him, he was gone, and he never showed up for lunch.

So now, Sam was on a mission himself.

He checked his pad, looking over the lifesigns in the castle.  He knew at least approximately where everyone should be, and the lone dot in the Black Lion hanger didn’t need a label for Sam to know who it was.

Stepping in, he saw Shiro sitting in front of his lion, knees up against his chest and face covered by his arms.

Sam’s first instinct was to go over and place a hand on Shiro’s shoulder, but considering what had happened earlier that day, it was probably not the wisest idea.  “Takashi?”  There was no reaction.  “Takashi!”

This time, Shiro started and picked his head up.  Even from that distance, Sam could see how red his eyes were.  “Sam.  What are you- did something happen?”

Moving over, Sam sat down next to him.  “You missed meals.  You aren’t supposed to skip like that.”

Shiro glanced at him, openly incredulous.  “That’s hardly the worst thing I’ve done today.”

“Depends on your criteria.  If it was willful, I have a lot more to say about that than an ingrained reaction.”  Sam eyed Shiro.  “Was it?”

After a moment, Shiro sighed.  “Not really.  I lost track of time.  And then I really didn’t feel like eating.”

That wasn’t a great answer, but at least it was an honest one.  Sam watched Shiro, then tracked his gaze to the lion.  “Can you talk to me right now?”

“What’s there to talk about?” Shiro replied, voice so flat it was nearly dead.  “I used the arm on Keith because he surprised me.”

For a moment, Sam considered Shiro.  Then he snorted loudly.  “Good.”

The answer made Shiro’s head whip around, and he finally met Sam’s gaze.  “What?  That’s  _ not _ good!”

“The fact that you defended yourself against an unexpected threat to your life is,” Sam replied calmly.  “I’d rather you attack someone who grabs your throat from behind rather than not.”

Shiro gaped at him, still clearly wrong footed.  He shook his head, jerky and too hard.  “No, I should be able to tell the difference.”

“Takashi, if you paused to figure out the difference in a fight, you’d be dead.  End of story.”

Pausing, Shiro frowned at him but nodded reluctantly.  “But-”

“It’s okay to be upset that you hurt one of your teammates.” Sam told him gently.  “But you’ve all trained yourselves into certain reactions.  You need to, or else you wouldn’t survive.  And you stopped yourself.  That’s what’s important.  You barely brushed him and gave him a good scare, even when he was actively threatening your life.”  Sam’s brows rose.  “Unless you meant to slice him open, in which case you did a very poor job.”

Shiro’s expression crumpled in horror, and Sam recognized he’d probably gone a step too far with that joke.  “No.  No!  I wasn’t going to- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”  He leaned over suddenly, pressing his face to Sam’s shoulder.  “I wasn’t trying to do that.”

“I know, son, I know.”  Sam sighed and pulled Shiro closer, holding on tightly.  “You did well,  He’s just fine, and so are you.  Everyone’s safe.”

It took a long time for Shiro’s shaking to stop.

It took even longer for them to move.


	8. Shiro and Lance, 16

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Lance jolted, nearly losing his balance and falling over.  Impressive, given that he was sitting, but he’d been resting all of his weight on his braced arms.  Turning, Lance saw Shiro in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame.

Shit.  Caught.

Lance shrugged elaborately, going for casual.  “I’m restless still,” he replied airily.  “Figured I’d mess around with something until I was ready for bed.  Get around all that energy from our awesome fight.”

Stepping over, Shiro nodded, not looking down at where Lance sat.  “I see.”  He glanced over the projected star map in front of Lance, depicting a very specific solar system, then looked back down.

Lance tried not to squirm.  He didn’t really manage.

“I wanted to know how much information the Alteans had on Earth,” Lance replied, still trying for that flip tone.  “Figured it’d be a good way to spend ten minutes.”

Shiro let out a slow breath, then sat down next to him.  “Lance.  It’s okay.  I couldn’t sleep either.”  He flopped out, legs stretching out ahead of him and crossed at the ankle, weight braced on his palms.  It was no doubt consciously chosen, casual to get Lance to relax.

It was working.  Slowly, Lance unwound, arms dropping into his lap and shoulders slumping.  “Yeah.”  He took a deep breath, dropping his own put on expression and instead staring at the little projection of Earth, lit up in pale blues and teals.  “Ten thousand years wrong.”

Nodding, Shiro tilted his head.  “It’s strange, sometimes, to remember that Alteans have been gone for longer than there’s been known human civilization.”  It was a strange thought, and an angle Lance hadn’t been thinking about at the moment - he’d mostly been sad he was looking at an Earth that didn’t have his family.  “I wonder if we could update it.”

“Well, we can get Pidge’s laptop,” Lance replied.  “She might have some pictures of Earth.  Or there’s probably some movies that have it.”

Shiro hummed thoughtfully.  “Well, we could do that, but I was thinking something else.  One second.”  He pushed himself up to his feet, then dug through the storage compartments near the console.  Eventually, he pulled out a couple of the headbands they used for training with Voltron, and dropped one on Lance’s head.  As he sat, he pulled on one of his own.  

Lance straightened his, rather than the crooked lean that had covered one of his ears.  “You want to share memories of it?”

“Well, yes, but not with each other.  With the computer.”  Shiro closed his eyes, brow furrowed, and a flickering image over the projection of Earth.  It looked like a floating picture rather than a hologram, with cloud cover looping over the few moments, until the image stilled like a photograph.

Brows up, Lance leaned forward.  “You remember all those details like that?”

Shiro cracked a grin.  “Of Earth in general?  Not really.  Of this moment?  Yes.”  He glanced sideways at Lance, gaze warm.  “This is what Earth looked like when we left for Kerberos.”

“You-” Lance’s mouth fell open, and he stared at the still image in new appreciation.  “Oh.”

“But it’s only part of the picture,” Shiro replied softly.  “Help me out?”

Oh.  Closing his eyes, Lance concentrated on the maps he’d studied in the past.  He’d always liked sailing, and there had been a brief period where is dreams of being a pilot had been interrupted by his dreams of being a sailor (or, okay, a pirate, but not a mean one.  Just a cool one with a badass jacket).  He’d spent those few months obsessed with maps of Earth, plotting out his courses, and with the headband on it all came to mind easily.  

Using the detail from both Shiro’s memory and their own knowledge, the computer seemed to fill in the details.  The clouds disappeared from Shiro’s side, replaced with complete geographic information of the area below.

It was a couple of years old still, but geographically speaking, that was nothing.  Even that ten thousand year gap wasn’t much for a planet: it had just been too much for Lance.

Now it was much better.

“Good job,” Shiro told him, voice soft, and Lance grinned back.

“It doesn’t get bigger than this, though,” he said.  “Maybe if we isolated the planet and pulled it into its own program, but this is as far as it zooms.  It still has the rest of the universe loaded up and that’s too much detail.”

Shiro hummed thoughtfully.  “Mind if I try something?”  When Lance nodded, Shiro scooted closer until their shoulders were pressed together, and then he waved his hand.  Everything but the nearer clusters of stars and the Earth dimmed, including the console and the lights on the wall.  Then he tilted his head, and a shadow cast over the lower half of Earth, while the cloud cover appeared again.  Then it shrunk slightly, looking farther away.

Lance bit off a protest, though his hands twitched in his lap.  He had no idea what Shiro was trying to accomplish from making Earth harder to see, but he trusted Shiro had a plan, anyway.

“Okay, that should do it.”  Shiro nodded contentedly.  Earth sat like a marble in front of them, details visible but tiny and hard to make out, especially when half of it was in darkness.  Lance glanced at Shiro in question.  “This is the best I can do for the view from the moon.”

From the-

Oh.

“Have you been, or is this from photographs?” Lance asked, because he needed to say  _ something _ while he processed this.

Shiro leaned in closer, his shoulder heavy and warm against Lance’s.  “I was there.  Just for a supply run, it was barely two hours.  I had enough time to run out to the landing site, take a picture, then head back out.  It wasn’t as much fun as I thought it would be.  Most of the place is filled with those awful tourist attractions for people who are way too rich but don’t want to commit to a Mars trip.  The light pollution is getting to be a problem, too.”  He seemed to start, catching himself mid rant, and he nudged their shoulders together.  “But the moon once felt impossibly far away too, and humanity figured out how to get there and back all the time.  So maybe it’s not so far away after all.”

Closing his eyes hard, Lance nodded.  “Maybe not,” he agreed, his voice coming out strangled.  Before he could do more than wince, Shiro’s arm came around his shoulders, and he leaned into the embrace.  Lance pressed his face into Shiro’s shoulder and grabbed at his shirt.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Shiro replied softly.

It was much easier to cry in the quiet and the dark.  That had originally been the reason Lance left.  He didn’t  _ want _ to cry.  It felt gross and he wanted to be strong.

But with Shiro there it didn’t feel quite so bad.

 

What felt like a moment later, Lance blinked his eyes open to the artificial light of the daily cycle.  His head still felt stuffed up, but he was laying down on top of his bed, shoes and jacket off.  The console next to his bed blinked cheerfully at him, and Lance reached over to bat at it sleepily until it projected the message.

_ “They’d be proud of you,” _ it read, in Shiro’s choppy, ugly scrawl.  He must have written it out on the console when he put Lance to bed.   _ “If you want to do that again another night, just knock on my door.” _

Then under that, in smaller writing and quotes, there was another line.   _ “Consider again that dot.  That’s here.  That’s home.  That’s us. [...] on a mote of dust suspended on a sunbeam.  -Carl Sagan” _

Covering his eyes to keep them from tearing up again, Lance managed a trembling smile.  

“You dork.”

When he repeated that to Shiro later, he only got a smile.


	9. Shiro & Hunk, 4

A beach trip had sounded fun at the time.

Hell, it had been fun in the moment.  It was nice to take a few hours just to enjoy, and while the ocean hadn’t been exactly like the ones on Earth (clearly, considering it was a shimmering orange color), it had been good weather for it.  The sun beat down but the water stayed cool, and the sand had been fine and soft, the air crisp and the sky clear. 

They hadn’t stayed long, but it had been a good break after weeks of nothing but training and fighting.  They’d synthesized bathing suits as quickly as possible, and Shiro was thankful that no one had given him any bother for picking something more like a wetsuit with one shorter arm.  Pidge had gotten more teasing for picking boardshorts and a tank top, and then refusing to get into the water at first, preferring to relax on the beach.

Shiro had let her get away with that for the first hour or so, but it was inevitable that she got dragged into it eventually, considering Hunk and Lance’s pure enthusiasm to be in the water, and Keith’s desire not to be the primary target of their merriment.  So Shiro had done the responsible thing by putting Pidge on his shoulders and creaming them both in a game of chicken.

But eventually the sun set, and it was time to head back to the castle.

With the showers chaotic and occupied, Shiro had decided to focus on the work he’d put off instead, reading through information from a recent mission, trying to find anything useful against the Galra empire.

Eventually he’d put the pad down and stretched, reaching for the glass of water he kept at his desk.

His arm had  _ scraped _ at the movement, nerves lighting up from the odd, jagged vibrations.

Shiro froze, arm halfway out, and stared down.  At first, he had no idea what caused this sudden glitch.  Had something broken?  The afternoon had been so relaxed, he hadn’t had any hits that could have hurt the arm.

Then he noticed the white residue of dried salt water at the joint, and the hint of sand peeking out under the plates.

Oh boy.

It wasn’t the first time Shiro’s arm had gotten grimy.  More than once he’d gone to sleep with blood on it somewhere, only for it to be a gross, sticky mess after.  That wasn’t even counting the grime, dust and dirt it accumulated just from walking around on terrestrial planets.

This was different.  Those washed off pretty easily.  Sometimes he had to work to get in there, but they never  _ hurt  _ before.

Shiro made his way to the bathroom, wincing as his arm naturally jostled with each step and continued to rub in a way that made his nerves feel raw.  Once inside, he did his best to run his arm under the water, scraping with first the pick for cleaning and then with his nails.  But the sand just seemed to clump under the stream, and when Shiro scraped it was forced back in further.  

Shit.

Finally, Shiro gave up and threw on a pair of pants, not bothering with a shirt.  Getting it off in the first place had been pure torture, and raising his right arm to get it on again just wasn’t in the cards.  Instead he made his way to Hunk and Pidge’s shared lab, certain there was something there he could use to get in deeper.

Unfortunately, the lab wasn’t empty.

“Shiro?”  Hunk’s eyes went wide, and they darted down to Shiro’s bare chest in obvious shock.  Shiro resisted the urge to grab at something to cover up.  With his luck, he’d use the bad arm and end up yelling, and he really hadn’t needed to broadcast how uncomfortable he was in the first place.

Swallowing, Shiro squared his shoulders.  “Sorry to interrupt.  I was looking for something a little longer for cleaning this.”  He held out his arm to show Hunk, then winced as the grinding caused painful vibrations all the way up to his arm.  

Hunk’s brows came together at the noise.  “Well that doesn’t sound good.  How did you-” His eyes went wide.  “Oh.  Sand.  Oh man, okay.  Lemme... yeah, this’ll do.”  He pulled out over his toolkit, then patted the desk.  “Let’s get you fixed up.”

“That’s not necessary,” Shiro replied, eyeing the spot unhappily.  “All I need is something longer than the pick I already have.”

Staring at him, Hunk snorted.  “You’re not going to be able to hold as still if you’re doing it.  It’s only going to get the sand in deeper.”  When Shiro didn’t move, Hunk sighed.  “Shiro, it’s not an imposition, and I can get you a blanket if you’re uncomfortable.  But please, I’d rather make sure this doesn’t get worse and damage your arm.  So.  Come here, let me fix it.”

There was too much logic there for Shiro to argue, and his desire for independence didn’t outrank the need for the arm to stay in working condition.  So Shiro nodded, if reluctantly, and sat down heavily.  Moving the arm onto the table hurt, as did Hunk moving it into place, despite his obvious care.  Then Hunk pulled out a few tools and got to work.

“So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Hunk asked, brow furrowing as he bent in close to Shiro’s elbow joint.

Shiro paused, because Hunk never asked about future training sessions.  But then he realized it was small talk and he relaxed.  It was probably awkward to sit there in flat silence, after all.  “I was going to go over holds and locks again.  Preferably the getting out of them, without biting if possible.”

Chuckling, Hunk shrugged.  “You can’t deny it wasn’t effective.”

“Yeah, but who knows where that soldier had been.  I don’t need Pidge getting diseases that way.”

“True.”

Under Hunk’s professional care, Shiro’s arm started to feel better within minutes.  He watched with open fascination, occasionally twitching his fingers to test.  The first few times Hunk rapped his knuckles in warning, but after, he let it go and Shiro enjoyed the slowly lessening grind instead.

“Magic,” he finally pronounced, straightening his arm without even a hint of friction.

Hunk went pink.  “Just practice.”

“Fine, not magic.  But amazing anyway.  Thank you.”

“No problem,” Hunk replied.  “Any time. I mean it, Shiro.  Things like this are gunna happen, and it’s gunna get into your gears and grind and hurt.  But that’s why you have a team.”

Shiro smiled back softly, because he was right.


	10. Chapter 10

“You can’t possibly be sitting this one out.”

Shiro glanced over as Lance sat down in the chair next to him.  His brows were up in question as he flopped down, stretching his legs out in front of him.  One of the local aliens had to suddenly step around them, and they shot Lance a flat look that he either ignored or didn’t see at all.

Looking down at his chair, Shiro arched a brow.  “Apparently I can be.”

Lance stuck out his tongue.  “That wasn’t a pun.  I’m not Hunk.  Don’t make this into something we’ll both regret.  C’mon, why aren’t you out there?”

Sighing, Shiro looked out over the room.  It was designed like a ballroom, with a huge open space and warm lighting.  Everyone on the dance floor was in pairs, swirling in a way that reminded Shiro of a waltz.  With each step, the floor under their feet lit with a pale golden glow, only for a moment.

It was lovely, Shiro wouldn’t bother to deny that.  But there was a problem.

“It’s pairs dancing,” Shiro replied.  “And I don’t know the steps.”

Lance huffed.  “So ask someone to show you.”

Frowning, Shiro shook his head.  No, he didn’t want to deal with that.  There was political power in having been chosen by a paladin of Voltron for a dance.  If Shiro randomly picked someone, he might be throwing his weight in with them by association, when all he wanted was a quick dance.  The complexities of the Trynian culture and politics meant that something that small could have large effects, and Allura would be upset if he messed with that.

Actually, no, it was worse.  She’d give that tired sigh and draw herself up and get back to work again as though Shiro hadn’t made her life harder and not say a word to him about it.  And Shiro would feel like an ass all week.

The answer didn’t seem to satisfy Lance.  He stood back up, so abruptly that Shiro looked around for whatever threat had scared him.  When he focused back on Lance, there was a hand outstretched, tips just inches from his nose.  Shiro crossed his eyes to see it, then looked up at Lance’s face.

“May I have this dance?”

For a moment, Shiro only stared.  Then a smile cracked through, and he ducked his head to help hide the dawning grin.  “You don’t know the steps either.”

“So we’ll stick to the edges,” Lance replied easily.  “C’mon, everyone’s doing it together.  We saw some of these people talking in that meeting, they’re not that bright.  If they can do it, we can figure it out too.”

It was goofy and irreverent and just as likely to get them in trouble.

But it was also damn sweet, and Lance looked so hopeful.  Plus the fact that he was doing this because he knew how much Shiro loved to dance...

Ah, what the hell.  Why not?

Shiro took Lance’s hand, and the pair of them moved to the dance floor.

Despite Lance’s easy reassurances, neither of them had much luck figuring out the dance.  The steps themselves weren’t hard.  They mostly depended on some precise footwork and helping to balance each other with their hands.  But the order of the steps was difficult.

“You think they can hear something we can’t?” Lance asked, as the rest of the dance floor shifted to another step and position, leaving them copying the previous one with no wording.  “I swear that was mid-note.”

It was as good an explanation as any.  “Maybe,” Shiro replied, but he had to admit at this point he didn’t really care.  “This wouldn’t be bad to foxtrot to.  Have you ever done that?”

“Nope,” Lance replied cheerfully.  “Show me?”

Shiro did, leading Lance carefully through a few basic steps.  He picked them up quickly, both through his own wit and his natural fluidity of motion.  Soon, Shiro had him spinning under his arm.

When he ducked back out of it and back into the steps, Lance pouted at him.  “How come I’m doing the girl steps?”

“Because I actually know what I’m doing, so I’m leading,” Shiro replied easily.  “And I’m taller, which helps.  But keep practicing and I’ll switch with you.”

“Oh, I get to lead?  Do I get to be the head, too?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Hey, no skipping.  I called being the head.”

Shiro tilted his head back to smile in greeting at Hunk.  “Depends.  Do you know how to foxtrot?”

Glancing between them, Hunk shook his head.  “No, that’s not one of the ones I know.  I could learn?”

Wrapping his arm around Shiro’s shoulders, Lance stuck out his tongue.  “Too slow, I got there first.  I’ll get to be the head and you and Shiro can be the legs.”

“I’ll be happy to teach you,” Shiro replied flatly, ducking down to untangle himself from Lance’s hold.  “If you show me one of the ones you do.”

Hunk beamed, delighted.  “Sure.  Maybe not to this?  Back at the castle I’d be happy to.”  He looked honestly thrilled to have been asked, and Shiro wished he’d thought to do so before. 

Once Lance climbed off, still playfully muttering about usurping the head position - and it taxed Shiro not to joke about the wording, it really did, but someone needed to be the responsible one - Shiro took Hunk’s hand and started to walk him through as well.

Hunk didn’t pick it up as fast, partly because he kept pausing and dropping his head down, unsure as to his foot placement.

“I don’t want to step on your foot,” he admitted, when Shiro tapped his shoulder to get his attention.

Shiro snorted.  “I’ve survived much worse from way worse dance partners.  There was a studio a few blocks at my house, and the instructor asked me to help out in one of my classes.  The other student had to have been some kind of football player, and he had absolutely no grace at all.  The first time was an absolute disaster, let me tell you...”   
  
The story helped distract Hunk until he was able to move with the dance more easily, forgetting completely to be nervous.

Catching sight of Allura behind Hunk, Shiro offered a sheepish smile, hoping he hadn’t ended up causing her trouble anyway.  But she just smiled back, looking pleased, and he supposed dancing was good enough bonding that if it was a problem, it was worth it.  That and it was exercise and footwork, all very good things.

“You know, you wouldn’t have to be nervous about the next step if you were leading,” Shiro told Hunk mischievously.  “And I’m sure Lance would enjoy getting to practice more.”

Laughing, Hunk nudged his shoulder.  “Don’t think I don’t know what a trap I’m walking into.  But alright, alright.  It sounds funny.”  With a quick hug, Hunk bounded off, and Shiro returned to where he’d been sitting.  Pidge and Keith were both still waiting, a plate of food set between them that they were both snacking off of.

“Don’t even try it,” Keith warned flatly.  “I refuse.”

Pidge didn’t even look up.  “I’m busy.”

Glancing at her, Shiro smirked.  “You know, I could just let you stand on my feet and dance with you that way.”

That earned him a flat look at the childish suggestion, and she bit into what looked like a potato and sounded like a carrot.  “Try it.”

“No thanks, I like all my toes.”  He watched as Hunk cornered Lance, grinning, and Lance’s pout in response.  But soon enough the pair of them were dancing in what was less of a foxtrot and more of a coordinated, playful shuffle.

Keith eyed Shiro, then glanced back at the other two.  “Disappointed that you lost your dance partners?”

“Nah,” Shiro replied.  “The point isn’t always the dancing.  That’s fun, but the best part is the company.  I have that here too.”

Rolling his eyes, Keith knocked their shoulders together.  “We’re not in Voltron, we don’t need speeches.”

“It’s not a speech,” Shiro replied, playfully sticking his nose in the air.  “It’s just the truth.”

“The scary part is that he’s being serious.  Shiro’s just like that.  All... sincere.”  Pidge gave a delicate shudder, but she smiled at him too.

In a very mature and responsible move, Shiro stuck his tongue out.

Because she was right.  Shiro meant every word.  Dancing was nice, but it was just a bonus.  The real reward was spending time with his team.

Lucky for him, his team let him do both.


	11. Shiro & Paladins, 12

All in all, the Paladins were well protected by the elements.  Whatever the armor was made out of, it had environmental controls to make it as hospitable to the life wearing it as possible, and it was powerful enough to protect them from the void of space.

However, that didn’t do them nearly as much good when they weren’t wearing it.

Shiro took the blame for this one.  They were stuck on this planet for a couple of days, and Shiro had thought some training with environments outside of the castle would be helpful.  On the castle, they rarely got chances to really work on battling in an area with lots of cover and obstacles.  While Shiro hadn’t noticed a problem with it yet during actual combat, he hadn’t wanted it to become an issue later, if he could help it.  

He’d brought that up to Allura, who had brought it up to the local leader, and they’d been allowed to use a small cabin in the wounds just north of the city.  The woods themselves were thick, casting the undergrowth in shadow, and while it had certainly been nippy, it hadn’t been very cold.  So Shiro had given the team a choice if they wanted to wear their armor or not.  They weren’t going to be using their bayards for this exercise.  He wanted them to focus on sneaking around and maneuvering, not on fighting.

Hunk and Pidge had opped to wear theirs.  Lance and Keith had not.  Shiro hadn’t either, but for a specific reason: his nearly completely black clothing was better for sneaking around in the shadowed forest.  He was determined to keep them on their toes.  Especially Pidge, who got a little too comfortable using her invisibility technology and not her skills.

Except then, the snow had started to fall.  And grew and built until it wasn’t flurries, but a full on snow squall.

They’d only been a mile from the cabin, and with Hunk and Pidge’s helmets they were never lost.

That didn’t make it comfortable.

By the time they returned to the cabin, Lance, Keith and Shiro were all shaking hard.  Of them, Lance was probably doing the best, and Shiro suspected that the Blue Lion gave him slightly more resistance to a chill.  Or maybe it was just that Lance just had the thickest coat.

At least they were protected from the wind now.  But this was just a little building.  There didn’t seem to be any kind of environmental controls, meaning it was still quite cold inside.

“I’m going to see if I can make a heater out of anything,” Hunk told them, pulling off his helmet.  “I think there was some kind of heating element for food.”

“G-g-good p-p-”  Shiro shook his head, frustrated.  “I c-c-can-”  He held up his hand and flashed it on, fairly certain that Hunk would understand that he could be a heating element, if needed.

Except when he turned it on, the metal arm  _ hurt. _

Shiro screamed before he could stop the sound, and he backed up until he hit a wall, helping to keep his balance.  

It felt like running his hand under hot water when it was cold, multiplied several times over.  Painful tingles shot through him like thousands of tiny needles, and even that split second activation left him throbbing and aching.

“Shiro!”  The shout was close, and when Shiro opened his eyes, he saw Pidge barely a few inches away.  She reached out to touch the arm, then hissed and jerked it back.  “Oh no.”  Her hands moved to where the metal touched skin instead, and she winced.  “That’s not good.”

Moving closer as well, Keith groaned softy.  “We didn’t even think.  It’s too cold. Take my jacket.”  

He started to pull his way out of it, but Shiro held up his hand.  “No.  It won’t fit, for one.  And you need it.”

“We’re going to get into our armor, Shiro,” Lance pointed out gently.  “But you need to warm you up first, I think.  You don’t want to be trapped in yours with a freezing cold piece of metal.  C’mon, I bet my jacket will fit.”

Shiro frowned and shook his head.  Judging by the size of it, Shiro had always assumed the jacket was some kind of gift, or maybe just one Lance had stolen from one of his siblings and never given back.  “It’s fine, I’ll warm up soon.”

“I’ll get started on a heater,” Hunk told them.  “I think that’s the best thing we can do.  You want to help, Pidge?”

Pidge shook her head.  “It’s not really a two person job, and you’re better at mechanics.”  Then she looked back at Shiro.  “Insulating the cold metal is just going to keep it freezing longer.  We’re better off keeping the rest of Shiro warm.  Your armor is definitely a bad idea right now, Lance is right.”

Behind her, Lance gave a little flash of a pleased smile, but it faded away quickly.  They all looked worried as Hunk moved to the kitchen area in search of something to fiddle with.

Hopefully, no one would be upset they were about to broke part of the cabin.

...Alright, yeah, Shiro wasn’t in his right mind if that was what he was worried about.

“You two change,” he told Keith and Lance.  “I’ll feel better when I know you’re not cold anymore.”

Keith snorted.  “Very subtle.”  But when Shiro continued to stare, trying for commanding but probably just coming across begging, he sighed.  “Alright.  Five minutes.”

“Hunk will have you warmed up in a jiffy,” Lance told him, nodding with perfect faith as he slipped out, too.

Shiro smiled.  “I don’t have any doubts as to that,” he called after, then leaned back more heavily against the wall.  Hunk was the man for the job, no doubt, but he could only do so much so fast.

Frankly, Shiro wanted to be left alone to nurse the pain where he didn’t have to hide his expressions and noises.

But he wasn’t going to do that, because Pidge but her hand on his shoulder and pushed down.  “C’mon, sit before you fall over.”  Shiro eyed her, but obediently sat down, still with his back to the wall.  “How comfortable would you be taking off your shirt?”

The question made Shiro freeze.  “Well, it’s still chilly in here,” Shiro replied carefully.  

“Skin to skin contact is best for transferring heat, and we need to keep the skin by the metal warm before it hurts you,” Pidge replied, clipped and professional.

Shiro stared for a moment, and that gave lie to his line about the chill.  No, that wasn’t why he didn’t want to.  But Pidge was right, and Shiro couldn’t afford injury to his metal arm, not when it was his main weapon.  So he sighed and pulled off his shirt, not meeting her eyes.

He knew she saw anyway from the way Pidge’s breathing paused, just for a moment.  Shiro appreciated her trying not to react, but the purposeful lack of any kind of responses was telling anyway.

While he wasn’t looking, there were two thumps of gauntlets being dropped, and then hands touched the skin right by the metal.  He hissed at the contact, because they were burning hot.

“Sorry,” Pidge murmured, using her knee to push her gauntlets out of the way.  “Too much?”

“No,” Shiro replied, though his teeth were clenched.  “It’s fine.”

The door opened again, and Lance whistled. “Damn, don’t start the party without me.”  When he came closer, Shiro could see he still had the jacket.  Before he could protest, Lance held up his hand.  “I’m not going to put it on the arm.  Hold out your other hand.” 

Shiro did, reluctantly, and Lance threaded his arm through the sleeve, then pulled the hood onto him.  It was warmer than Shiro had thought.  Likely it still had some of Lance’s body heat.  Instinctively, he tucked that arm into his chest.

A moment later, Keith stepped in closer too, and he draped his jacket over Shiro’s front like a blanket.  

“That would be more helpful if it was a real jacket, you know,” Lance pointed out.  “Why do you wear that thing again?”

“Why do you care?” Keith shot back.  “It’s better than nothing.”

“Barely.”

Pidge groaned.  “Enough.  Try to find something more useful to do than bickering, please.”

After a moment, Lance nodded.  “Alright.  Hey, Shiro, scoot up a bit.” 

Shiro obeyed, watching him curiously.  Stepping forward, Lance slid behind Shiro’s back, then tugged him back into place.  With how he was leaning, it put the base of Shiro’s head at Lance’s shoulder rather than his nose where it should have been, and so Lance could wrap his arms around him comfortably.  “There.  Ta-da.  You warm the arm, we’ll warm the rest.”

“Lance,” Shiro murmured.  “I’m fine.  As soon as the arm is warmer this won’t be a problem.  This is ridiculous.”

There was no verbal response.  Instead, Lance wrapped his arms tighter around Shiro and his Frankenstein-esque jacket-shirt, like if Shiro wanted him gone he’d have to fight him.

And Shiro couldn’t deny how nice the heat felt.  

A moment later, Keith pressed against his side as well, his arm to Shiro’s chest.  “Just until Hunk is done,” he told him, a hint of something soothing, like Shiro was a spooked horse.

He didn’t feel like one.  Right now, he felt more like a cat in a sunny window.

They kept it up for about ten minutes longer, Pidge and Keith eventually switching places when her hands started to chill, until Hunk came in with some kind of device and a bundle of blankets in his hands.  He paused a the pile of them.  “Huh.  I figured I was being ridiculous for bringing these.”

Shiro stared at them, then down at the ring of paladins around him.  “Oh.”

“You know, normally I’d say you’re a genius, Hunk,” Lance called.  “But I think we were being kind of stupid, actually.”

Hunk considered, then put down the device next to Shiro’s arm.  He flipped it on and it started to glow red, and Shiro could immediately feel heat coming off of it.  Groaning, he closed his eyes.  It was the same kind of painful as activating the arm, just much slower and less intense.  Much better.

“I dunno,” Hunk finally replied, and there was more than a hint of mischief to his voice.  “I think I like yours better.”  Then he moved, grabbing them all in a huge hug.  It smushed them together, with Shiro the squishy center.

It would be a lie to call it pleasant, but Shiro burst into delighted laughter anyway. “That’ll do.”

Even without the heater and the jackets, Shiro would have felt very, very warm right now.


	12. Hunk & Paladins, 15

Today was just unlucky.

Hunk was never the sort of person to wake easily or quickly.  He set himself three different alarm clocks to make sure he didn’t just smack them off in his sleep.  So when the alarms went off in the awful, wee hours of the morning, Hunk always found himself disjointed and out of it.  When there was a real purpose for it, the adrenaline kicked in and he was ready to go.

When there wasn’t, Hunk was just grumpy.

By now they were all used to the exercise - and the real version - so they managed to make it to the control room in the allotted time.  But their time was basically identical to the last few times, so they still got told to work on it and set to practicing with a scowl.

After that, it was agility training, which Hunk hated.  He could manage, physically, once he got started, but Hunk just wasn’t a ‘do it in a second’ kind of person.  He wanted to double check his calculations, wanted to think everything through.  And, yeah, he got that he didn’t have those things in the real world, fine, whatever.  Didn’t make it more fun in the moment.

Between Keith, who was naturally speedy and never second-guessed himself, Pidge, who was a bonafide genius and could recalculate on the fly, and Lance, who was fairly fast and incredibly competitive, Hunk managed to consistently finish last all morning.

By the end, Hunk was tired, he was sweaty, he was irritated and his pride was wounded.

“Did you see that!  Snatched victory right out from under Keith’s nose!”  Lance threw up his arms in jubilation, ignoring the way Keith visibly bristled from the other side of the room.  “Awesome, right?”

Hunk hunched his shoulders in.  “Yeah.  Great.  Good job.”

The lack of enthusiasm made Lance pause, and he frowned at Hunk.  “Something wrong?”

“No,” Hunk replied.  “It’s just a long day.”

Lance’s brows jumped up and he tried for a smile.  “It’s not even lunch yet, dude.”

“I know.”

Visibly hesitating, Lance glanced back, then rested his hand on Hunk’s shoulder.  “Hey, it’s alright.  You want to take a couple of hours to relax?  We were up really early.”

Hunk considered it, then shook his head.  “No,” he replied, just a hint of a sulk to his voice.  “If I don’t get to making lunch soon, Coran will do it.  And I’m not having this bad a day and also eating what Coran makes.”

Normally, cooking was soothing.  It was something Hunk was good at and something he loved.  But right now, he was just tired.  It was too much effort and took energy Hunk didn’t have.

“I’ll keep Coran out myself,” Lance replied.  “It’ll be waiting for you in two hours.”

Hunk shifted from foot to foot.  He wasn’t sure Lance could manage when Coran had a stubborn idea, but Lance was pretty tenacious, too.  And he was so tired.  “Alright.  Just a couple.”

“Atta boy.  You go rest up.”  Lance clapped him on the shoulder.  “In the meantime we’ll- oh, hey, Shiro.”

Glancing over, Hunk wilted again.  Oh boy.  After his performance today, he could imagine what Shiro was about to say.

“Good job today, Lance,” Shiro said as he stepped up, and Lance’s beaming smile at the praise nearly perked Hunk up too.  “Do you have a minute, Hunk?”

“He’s going to go rest up,” Lance replied immediately, pressing his shoulder to Hunk’s.  

Shiro glanced between them, then his lips quirked up.  “It’ll only take a moment, Dr. Lance.  With your permission?”

The easy tone seemed to make Lance relaxed.  He glanced between the two, but he didn’t really have the authority to tell Shiro not to talk to Hunk.  “Okay, but keep it quick.”  It came out more like a question, and then Lance stepped back over to Keith and Pidge, speaking to them in low voices.

Hunk would be worried about that, but Shiro was watching him, brows up, and he wilted under the stare.

“Sorry, I know I did badly,” Hunk told him.  “I’ll work on it, I know.”

Shiro’s brows jumped up.  “Actually, I was going to tell you that your scores were better than last time, so good job on the improvement.”

What?

Staring at Shiro, Hunk tilted his head.  “But I sucked.”

“Sucked how?  Compared to Keith?  Maybe, but if we were doing a head to head on engineering, Keith wouldn’t fare half as well.”  Shiro put his hand on Hunk’s shoulder.  “I don’t expect everyone on the team to be good at everything.  This isn’t how you operate.  But you keep trying and you’re improving.  That’s all I ask for.”

Swallowing hard, Hunk stared down at shoes.  “Oh.”  He still felt bad, because being at the bottom of the list all day sucked, but that did help a lot.  “Okay.  Thank you.”

“No problem.  And Lance is right.  Go rest up.”  Shiro ruffled his hair, and paused when it nearly knocked off his headband.  “Oh. Sorry.”

Shiro sounded so honestly contrite that Hunk cracked a smile.  “It’s alright, I’m taking it off in a minute, anyway.  Thanks again.”  As he made his way out the door, he saw Lance gesture Shiro over as well.

Yeah, definitely something to worry about.

In two hours.

***

After a nap, Hunk did feel better, or at least less bad, which was basically the same thing.  Which meant it was time to relieve Lance of his guard duty and get to work.

But when he got to the kitchen, he found Shiro in the doorway, using his bulk to block it.

“Is something wrong?” Hunk asked carefully.

Shiro looked up from the pad in his hands, startled, and then shot Hunk a smile.  “Oh, good afternoon.  No, everything’s fine.  I was just helping out in a way that wouldn’t be a disaster.”

What?

Stepping aside, Shiro gestured for Hunk to step in.  Immediately, he could see that his poor kitchen was chaos.  Pidge and Keith were each manning a station while Lance directed like someone who didn’t actually know what they were doing, but at least knew better than anyone else in the room.  The sink was full of used pots, a couple of which had contents that still looked faintly charred.

“We told Coran that it was a special holiday today, and that we wanted to surprise you,” Shiro told him, still leaning against the doorway. He seemed to be content to cheerfully ignore the increasing chaos of the room.  “And that it would be completely inappropriate for us to accept his help.  So when he brings it up, play along, would you?”

Hunk smiled again, this time wider than he had before.  “I’ll try.”

“Hey!” Lance called cheerfully, proudly decked out in Hunk’s pink apron.  “We figured for once, we’d be the ones to cook for you.  We made your favorite!  Or, close to it.”  And, true to Lance’s word, Hunk could see candied fruits and pastries cooling on one of the specialized racks.  Something that smelled amazing similar to coconut wafted in the air, and he could see the remains of where they’d been frying.

That was...

Hunk felt his eyes prickle as he was ushered down to a table and chatter sprung up about what Lance had been making them cook, about training earlier and how much everyone hated the alarm wake-up calls.  The atmosphere was light and cheerful, and Hunk smiled through his watery eyes.

Lance had been right.  He’d judged too early.

It was a pretty good day after all.


	13. Shiro, 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for torture , though there's no blood any deep descriptions

This wasn’t real.

This wasn’t real it wasn’t real it wasn’t real.

Shiro knew it wasn’t.  He knew he’d been captured, knew he was at the mercy of Haggar again, knew there was a new bitterness there.

He knew they were trying to make him suffer.

It wasn’t real.

But it sounded real.

Keith’s scream ripped through the room, echoing in a way that sounded incredibly realistic.  But it wasn’t.

Shiro knew because he couldn’t block it out.  When he ducked his head between his legs to cover his ears, the sound was no more muffled for it.  If his hands had been free, they would have been no better.

This wasn’t real.

“Shiro!  Shiro,  _ help!” _

This wasn’t real.

“It hurts- stop, please, stop stop I can’t-”

This wasn’t real.

Shiro would not break.

The words stopped, but the noises didn’t.  This time it was pure, inhuman screaming, pained and scared.

Shiro would wonder where Haggar got the noise from, but he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

Those were his screams from her experiments, just pitched and changed to sound like Keith.

This. Wasn’t. Real.

And Shiro would not cry from them.

***

Keith hadn’t been first.  Pidge had.

She’d screamed for him, had called for his help, had told him she was all alone, she didn’t want to be alone anymore.

Shiro had roared from it.  He’d fought the chains until his shoulders burned and ached and threatened to give.  He’d shouted, commanded, begged to be let free.  He’d believed it.

But no longer how long Pidge was tortured, she only called for Shiro.  Not for Sam, not for Matt, not for her mom.

That was how he’d figured out this was a lie.

The only thing Shiro hadn’t done for Pidge was cry.

He refused to give them that now.

***

Hunk had been next.  His voice had shaken, he’d sobbed, he’d begged.  He’d been inconsolable, beyond terrified.  Not tortured in the same way as Pidge, but left somewhere cold and small and sealed off and left to rot, left to suffer.  He cried out for Shiro, just to hear his voice, just to know he wasn’t alone.   _ Please! _

Curling in on himself, Shiro shut his eyes tight and ignored it.

He would not break.

Even when Hunk’s voice broke down from his screaming, even when his sobs caught in his throat from exhaustion, Shiro refused to reply.

This wasn’t real.

“Why won’t you help me?” Hunk asked, quiet, defeated.  “Did I do something wrong?”

Shiro would not cry.

***   
Next was Lance, and he raged.

He screamed through the door, banged on it, accused and judged.  Lance told Shiro he didn’t care about any of them, that he’d failed them, that he’d set himself like a leader and betrayed their trust.

Shiro stared down at the floor and didn’t fight the words.

Tears came next to Lance, born of frustration and hurt.

“I don’t want to believe it.  You were my hero.  Can’t you do anything?  Doesn’t it hurt you?  All I want is a sign. All I want is to know that you give a damn.”

Curling up tighter, Shiro shook his head and measured his breath.

“Yeah, I thought so.”

He would not cry.

***

“Shiro!”

He flinched from the name, from the voice.  But this time they weren’t far away, and they weren’t one at a time.

And they were in the room.

And he could see them.

“Shiro?” Pidge asked gently.  “Can you- oh, man,  _ Shiro. _  It’s okay.  We’re here to rescue you.”

Was this a new torture?

But it couldn’t be. There was no way Haggar would risk this.  Lance shot the chains holding Shiro’s wrists to the wall, murmuring soothing words about how it was good to have him back.  Hunk worked on the clip keeping his arm dead, narrating everything he was doing as he worked.

Keith stood nearby, quiet and watchful, eyes burning.

When Shiro stood, Keith reached out and grabbed him in a hug.  “We’ve got you.”

This wasn’t... This couldn’t be...

Was it?   

The rescue was a chaotic blur, full of shots and fights and Shiro being pressed against walls for protections.

Then he stepped into the Red Lion and it hit.

This was real.

Collapsing down on the spot, Shiro curled up on himself and the tears finally came.

“Shiro!”

“Is something wrong?”

“Where’s he hurt?  What happened?”

“Oh, Shiro.  Don’t cry.  It’s okay now.”

But the tears didn’t slow.  If anything, they got worse, and Shiro found himself always being touched and murmured to by someone the whole flight home.

They were going home.

This was real.

Shiro was safe.


	14. Team, 45

This was probably inevitable.

With the number of disasters they responded to, it wasn’t really a surprise that the team ended up running into a lot of injury and disease.  Even with the advanced technology of many of the species they encountered, some things couldn’t be fully prevented.  After all, even the pods couldn’t curse illness, only injury.

Shiro was the first to get it.  It was just a little sniffle, he’d thought.  A stuffy head.  Barely even a cold: maybe he was just allergic to something around here.  No big deal.

It had been so minor he’d barely mentioned it.  Until Lance had started to sniffle next, and Hunk made and went through a huge pot of tea all by himself.

Soon all of the humans were done with what was essentially a nasty cold: strong enough to keep them from using Voltron if it wasn’t an emergency, but not bad enough to mean they needed constant medical attention.

Allura took about an hour to get fed up with the sick paladins, and instead dumped them all in the rec room with enough snacks, drinks and games to get them through a siege.  She told them to call her in case of an emergency, then left them to suffer together.

She had not been amused when Lance had immediately paged her for ‘the good snacks.’

“So,” Shiro asked, reaching for his pad.  It was difficult, because it was on the table and he was in the comfy chair, so he’d have to actually sit up.  And that hurt.  Finally Pidge shoved it closer with her feet until Shiro could snag it with the edges of his fingers.  “What do you want to watch?”

“Something quiet,” Keith muttered, pulling his blankets up higher.

Hunk made an agreeing noise.  “No loud at all.  Headache.”

Waving a hand in acknowledgement, Shiro squinted at the screen.  His eyes were watering, which was unfortunate.  Combined with the way he kept sniffling to clear his nose and throat, it was like he was constantly about to cry.  “Is Bambi loud?”

“No, but it’s boring,” Lance groaned.  “I thought we were trying to distract ourselves?”

“Sleeping wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Shiro replied.  “And I don’t know these movies.”

“Give it to me,” Pidge shot back, holding up her hand.  After a moment of hesitation, Shiro threw it underhanded.  It slipped out of Pidge’s slack fingers and hit the blankets, but luckily it was made of tougher stuff.  No need to worry about broken glass.

Leaning over Hunk rested his chin on top of Pidge’s hair, and whined when she used her hand to block his view.  “I wanna see.”

“Then ask instead of reading over my shoulder.”

Lance snickered.  “He’s not, he’s reading over your head.”

There was a shuffle under Pidge blankets, like she was considering trying to kick Lance, but gave up.  “Is Indiana Jones too loud?”

“Helicopter scene,” Hunk reminded.  “And the screaming at the end.  Ow.”  He considered.  “Is the third one better?”

Lance reached over and nabbed the pad, ignoring Pidge’s shriek.  Keith groaned and covered his ears, curling up farther.  “Princess Bride.  Done.”

Frowning, Shiro considered.  “I think I’ve seen that one.  Doesn’t it have literal screaming water monsters?”

“For like two seconds,” Lance replied.  “But it’s fun, it’s quotable, it’s not that loud except for a couple of parts, and you’re not going to get a quiet movie that isn’t, like, romance crap.”

Hunk hummed.  “I’m okay with romance crap.”

“I’m not,” Keith muttered.  “Princess Bride is fine, whatever.”

Turning her head, Pidge looked Hunk over.  “They’re my movies.  There isn’t any romance on there.”

“Princess Bride is romantic,” Shiro pointed out, already curling back into the pillows.  Whatever they wanted to watch was fine with him, because no way he was going to stay conscious for the whole thing.

Pidge made a frustrated noise.  “But it’s not a  _ romance. _  So it’s different.”

“Sure,” Shiro replied, without a shred of sincerity, and he smiled at Pidge’s annoyed groan.

Eventually, the movie started and the lights began to dim.  Just as Shiro was starting to nod off, his chest felt too tight.  He tried to cough it out, but the tiny, dry jerks did nothing.

“Need tea?” Keith asked, cracking his eyes open.

Shiro shook his head.  “No, m’fne.  Give me a minute.”

After a minute of solid coughing, Hunk groaned.  “Shiro, c’mon.  I’ll bring you the damn tea.”  He started to shuffle to get up, clumsy as he tried to untangle himself from the blankets.

Okay, no.  That wasn’t happening.

With a groan, Shiro kicked off the blankets and padded over to the main couch, waving Hunk down.  There was a container of tea in some sort of would-be thermos.  Pouring himself a cup, Shiro looked back over at his chairs and all his discarded blankets. It may as well have been a mile away instead of five feet.

“Screw this.”  Pidge grabbed the back of Shiro’s shirt and tugged him backwards.  Only quickly slapping the Galra hand over the top of his cup saved him from losing his drink.  “Stop being over there.  It sucks.  Just stay here.”

Shiro glanced back over, frowning at her.  “I’m squishing you.”

Shoving at his arm, Pidge snorted.  “Then scoot.”  Shiro shifted so she could get out from under him, and then she slumped against his side.  “Problem solved.”

Shiro drained the tea and set it down, then considered trying to get back to his private chair.  On one hand, he could stretch out as much as he wanted.  On the other, this couch was warmer and Pidge felt nice against his side.

With a yawn, Lance flopped over, resting his head on Shiro’s shoulder.  “Pass me tea, too?”

Well, that settled it.

Handing over another cup, Shiro settled in comfortably, eyes falling shut now that the pressure in his chest was gone.

Warm, sleepy, and as comfortable as he could be, Shiro drifted off.


	15. Shiro and Pidge, 16

It was the sounds that caught Shiro’s attention.

Peering down the other hall, Shiro frowned.  At this time of night, there shouldn’t have been anything that cause strange noises like that.  From the rec room, Shiro could see just a sliver of light on the bottom, flashing and changing colors rapidly.

Something on TV, then.  Shiro sighed and made his way down that way.  Hopefully, Lance and Hunk hadn’t gotten distracted during one of their movie marathons again.  Neither of them had kept track of the time, and so when Shiro walked in on them at 4 AM, they’d been stunned. And the next morning, they’d both been utter wrecks.

As he moved closer, Shiro realized the odd noises were old school video game sound effects.  When he tapped on the console, the door swung open quietly, and Shiro could see the tops of a couple curls poking over the top.

Pidge, then.

Leaning over the back of the couch, Shiro tapped on the top of her head.  He hadn’t thought he was being particularly stealthy, but the noise of the game must have covered his footsteps, because Pidge jolted and tried to throw the controller in sheer reflex.  It was yanked to a stop from the cord to the console, and instead it fell right back down into the couch.

“Good reaction time, but I’d prefer to see it in the morning,” Shiro joked, lips curled up.

Then he finally met Pidge’s eyes, and saw how red rimmed they were.

Oh, no.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” Pidge demanded, crossing her arms and curling up tighter.  She wedged herself defensively into the corner where the cushions met the arm rest and stared at him defiantly.

No doubt she was expecting a scolding for being up that late.  And if she’d just been playing video games, then yeah, Shiro wouldn’t have been exactly pleased.  But he could read between the lines.

So Shiro just gave a small smile, then climbed over the back of the couch to sit down next to her.  It was an informal, almost childish move, and Shiro saw Pidge’s shoulders relax.  This wasn’t a leader moment.  It was a friend move, and Shiro was trying to get better about signalling those.

“Sorry,” he replied.  “I didn’t know you hadn’t heard me.”  He glanced at the screen, then tilted his head.  “I think you’re losing.”  

Pidge scooped up the controller and finally paused it, since throwing it at Shiro hadn’t done the trick.  “I am not,” she replied immediately.  “It’s not losing until there’s a game over.”

Glancing over from the corner of his eye, Shiro smiled.  “Wise words.”

Pidge froze, then scowled at her lap.

Silence held between them.  Pidge wouldn’t look at him, no doubt anticipating the kind of reassurances Shiro planned on giving.

But Shiro also liked dashing her expectations, and Pidge did better when given a puzzle and letting her figure out the answer for herself, anyway.

“I’ve never played this one,” Shiro replied instead.  “Can you show me how?”

“Shouldn’t we be asleep?”  Pidge asked, just shy of snide.  “Being very busy and important paladins.”

Shiro snorted, just to see her eyes widen.  “Eh.  We’ll manage. It’s not the first time I’ve stayed up late and faked my way through the morning.”

Slowly, Pidge’s lips pulled back up.  “And what if there’s an attack and we need to do something?”

Well, they were both screwed anyway.  If Shiro sent Pidge to bed now, he doubted she’d get more than a few blinks of sleep.  “We’ll make the other three do most of the work.  That’s why we have a team, right?”

Pidge actually grinned at that.  “Sounds like a plan.”  Moving closer, Pidge handed over the controller.  “Alright, let’s see how well you do.”

Five minutes of explanation later, and three minutes of gameplay, ‘game over’ flashed on the screen.

“Okay, we found something you’re not good at,” Pidge muttered.

Shiro huffed.  “I just started!  And you were at a later level, I didn’t start where I was supposed to.”

Leaning against his side, Pidge smirked.  “Just admit when you’re bad at something, Shiro.  The first step to getting better is to admit when you’re struggling.”

Which was something Shiro had said to the rest of the time earlier today.  Well, yesterday.

Placing his hand on Pidge’s face, Shiro shoved her back into the couch, gentle as he could.  “Don’t be a brat.”

Pidge froze, and when Shiro dropped his hand, her expression had fallen.

Oh, shit.  

“I didn’t mean- I was teasing, I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Pidge managed.  “I just- Matt said that a lot.”

Ah hell.

Pulling her closer, Shiro tucked Pidge against his side.  She went, grabbing onto his shirt and hiding her face in his shoulder.  

“Is that why you couldn’t sleep?” Shiro asked.

Pidge shook her head, clutching harder.  “Not at first.  I was thinking about the mission yesterday.  And how... That last blast at the end, if Keith hadn’t been able to push me out of the way.”

Shiro let out a low breath and pulled her closer.  “He did.  You’ve got to focus on that.  You’re here.”

Nodding, Pidge ducked her head.  “I know.  I was- it wasn’t good, but I was managing.  I was okay, mostly, except then I started thinking... it’s so easy for something to hapen.  It just takes a second, you know?  And then I could be gone.  Or they could... it’s been months and we still don’t know... they could be anywhere, and anything could have happened.  I know I should have stayed in bed, but...  What if they’re- It’s been so long, Shiro, what if...”  She swallowed hard.  “I couldn’t stay there anymore.”

Because being in a dark, quiet room with nothing but the thoughts in her head had probably been torture.

“It’s okay.  I couldn’t sleep, either.  For a few reasons.”  Shiro squeezed his arm around her shoulders, closing his eyes as he held on.  “It’s hard to keep hoping.  But you know them.  They’re way too good at getting out of trouble.  I think they’re alright.”  He let the silence hang, considering.  “Do you want to talk about them?”

Pidge shifted.  “Not really,” she admitted.  “Kinda?  But it hurts.”

“I know,” Shiro replied.  “Me too.”  They stayed silent again for a long time, illuminated by the light of the screen and just pressing together.  “Want to watch me suck at the video game again?”

This time, Pidge let out a watery laugh. “No.”  She pulled back, wiping at her eyes.  “I want to show you how it’s done.”

Shiro handed over the controller, and he smiled when she didn’t move away.  Instead, she flopped against his side, head still resting on his arm and legs tucked against him.

It was nice, to remember someone else was there.

For both of them.

***

The next morning, Shiro woke up to the sound of sarcastic cooing, and to see Hunk standing over them with his phone out.  Pidge was tucked against his side still, but they’d both slumped over until they were sprawled out in a pile.

“You missed breakfast,” Keith informed them flatly, completely ignoring Lance and Hunk’s antics as they sighed over the photos.

Scrubbing his eyes, Shiro looked down at Pidge, who gave a sleepy, sheepish smile back.

Ah, well.  Worth it.


	16. Sam + Shiro 86

“I was thinking,” Shiro began.

Sam hummed encouragingly.  “Did you just start now?  That’s a very impressive time without.”

That earned him a flat look.  “Ha.  You’re hilarious.”

“Oh, I like to think so.” Sam smiled back and steepled his fingers.  “What were you thinking about?”

“Training exercises again,” Shiro replied.  “I know that’s not what we’re supposed to talk about, but we haven’t really started yet, so...”

Taking a deep breath, Sam closed his eyes.  Oh, help him with this boy.  “I believe this was a ‘no working zone’?”

“But we haven’t started yet!” Shiro repeated, shoulders slumping.  “It was something I wanted to talk about before, this was just the first time I got a chance alone with you to talk about it.  Short thing.  Yes or no.”

Shiro wasn’t likely to let this go, so Sam sighed and nodded.  “Alright, what is it?”

“I wanted to do another paintball exercise,” Shiro replied, brightening now.  “But I’m really- I’m a fine shot, but I wouldn’t call myself talented.  Not like you and Lance.  So I thought it’d be a good chance for him to practice with you, if you’d like to participate.  He’s good, but I’m sure he could benefit from your eagle eye.”

Sam would say Shiro was laying it on thick, but there was no sly shine to his gaze.  This was just his honest assessment: Sam was a very good shot, so he wanted to pair him with Lance to help mentor him.

Leaning back in his hair, Sam considered Shiro.  “And what would the rest of you being doing?”

“Depends,” Shiro replied.  “Could just be working with cover and long distance disadvantages. Trying to get from point A to point B.  Or maybe working with escorts, like we had to in Beta Traz.  It could have got much worse.  Depends on if I can get someone to agree to be the protectee.  Matt is still refusing until I pay him, and I won’t pay him, so I could do it.”

“And this would be good for dodging and being quick on their feet,” Sam translated.

Shiro nodded, pleased that Sam got it.  “Exactly.”

“What about you?”

Pausing, Shiro frowned.  “What do you mean?”

Sam peered at Shiro over the top of his glasses.  “You already excel at that.  While Lance and I might be able to hit you, this isn’t something you need much more practice in.  And if you’re playing hostage, you certainly won’t be building any skills.  So what does this do for you?”

There was a moment of anxious blankness on Shiro’s face, like Sam had just reminded him of a test he’d completely forgotten to study for.

“Well, this one’s not really for me,” Shiro replied.  “I do find the paintball exercises fun to make?”  His voice rose up into a questioning tone, like he was hoping he’d stumble upon an answer that would satisfy Sam.

He hadn’t.

“Oh, have you done one for yourself, recently?” Sam replied.  “Other than lion bonding.  What have you done that focused on your own needs?”

Shiro’s jaw worked.  “Catching them up and getting them the skills to stay alive as been my priority, recently,” he admitted.  Already, his tone was tightening, aware it wasn’t the right answer, but stubborn about it.

“You know what I’m going to ask next,” Sam shot back.

Standing up, Shiro crossed his arms.  His shoulders tilted in, tight and defensive.  “You’re going to ask why keeping me alive isn’t just as much of a priority.  And the answer is that I already have those skills mastered.  That’s what kept me alive for a year.  I’ll manage.”

“Managing,” Sam repeated slowly.  “Maintaining.  I admit, I’m still not used to hearing you say that about yourself.  I seem to remember someone who was determined to excel.” 

It wasn’t the right thing to say.  It was a frustration of Sam’s, not another expectation to put on Shiro.  But he couldn’t seem to help it, in the moment.  He didn’t want Shiro to maintain.  He wanted him to grow in ways that weren’t fed in blood and trauma.

The bad feeling was confirmed when Shiro tightened further and snorted at Sam.  “That someone died.”

They both paused, Shiro in regret and Sam in pain.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro muttered, dropping his arms and sitting back down.  “That was uncalled for.”

“So was comparing you unfavorably to who you were, then,” Sam replied.  “I’m sorry for that.  But... Takashi.  You’re important too.  You need to focus on what you need just as much.”

Shiro sighed, slumping.  “You’re right.  This is one of those projecting things, l think.”

“That would be a safe bet,” Sam replied.  “I do apologize.  Sincerely.  I’m proud of you, Shiro.  Not just for surviving, but for the ways you’ve grown as well.  You didn’t backslide as a person.  I just miss the way you used push yourself.  Instead, you focus outwards.  You deserve someone to focus on you, too.”

Glancing up, Shiro managed a smile.  “Isn’t that why we do this?”

Sam smiled back.  “It is.  But I can only do so much.  You have to help yourself, too.  And that starts with giving yourself room to grow.  Not just pushing yourself too hard against the gladiators, but taking an honest look at your skill set and deciding to add onto it just for the sake of personal improvement.”

Frowning, Shiro tilted his head.  “Did you just tell me to get a sport hobby?”

“Frankly?  Yes.”

“Huh.”  Shiro considered that, hands in his lap.  “I’ll think about it.  I don’t know what I’d pick.”

“Sounds like your homework.”

Shiro’s playful groan at the word only made Sam smirk.


	17. Shiro and Pals, 70

“Are you feeling okay?”

Shiro paused, feet stumbling mid-step before he found his pace again, then he frowned over at Hunk.  “What do you mean?”  

Glancing down pointedly at Shiro’s feet, Hunk shoved on his helmet.  “You look a little flustered.  You okay?”

“He means you’re sweating like Pidge,” Keith translated flatly.  “You don’t look so good.”

Oh, jeez.  Shiro huffed in frustration, glancing between them both.  There was silence ahead of them from Pidge and Lance, which meant they were listening in carefully.

Of course they picked now to actually listen to him.

...Eugh, Shiro’s temper really was shot.

“Just a headache,” he told them.  “One of my quick colds.  I don’t think it’s a bad one.”

Lance huffed, his voice echoing back as Shiro put on his own helmet.  “You always say that.”

“Well, it’s almost always true,” Shiro replied.  He skidded to a stop in front of his zipline, glancing down.  For once, the drop made his stomach twist into knots.  Heights had never been a problem for Shiro (it had been harder to keep him from jumping off it), but right now the idea of swinging around was downright nauseating.  “We don’t have time for this.  Argue after we fight off the Galra, alright?”

Pidge made a grumpy noise, even as she hopped up to take hold of her own.  “Let’s make this quick, then.  You really look bad, Shiro.”

“Well, thanks,” he shot back, watching the rest of them grab on as well before taking hold of his own.  

He was right.  This as  _ awful _ when he already had a headache.  By the time he was settled into Black, Shiro had to take several moments to catch his breath.

Then the sounds of fire against the castle shields snapped him out of it.  

Shiro could be sick later.  They just didn’t have time for this.

Hands on the controls, Shiro closed his eyes for just a second, connecting with Black.

For a moment, the familiar feeling hazed and nearly broke apart.  At first, Shiro thought it was because Black was joining the complaints about his health.  

Then he realized it was because of him.  Shiro’s concentration was shot.

Maybe he really was worse off than he’d thought.

Shiro took a deep breath, then focused again.  This time, Black met him eagerly, and his lion roared to life as they shot out, the last of the group to enter the battle.

It didn’t matter.  It really didn’t.  There was nothing he could do but fight.  He’d deal with it after, like he’d said.

“Shiro!”  Keith called, openly relieved.  “There you are.”

Shiro smiled back in case any of them pulled up the camera.  He hoped not.  All the comments about how bad he looked just left him self-conscious of it.  “Sorry, needed an extra minute.”  He dove in, tackling a ship tailing Pidge, knocking it away at speed, where it crashed into another ship.

“Did you throw up?” Hunk asked, instantly sympathetic.  “Throwing up in the suits sucks.  You can smell it, eugh.  You okay?”

Well, he’d been better before Hunk had started talking.  “I didn’t throw up,” he replied, voice sharp as he fought off the sudden mental picture.  It was vivid enough that Shiro could nearly smell it anyway, nearly taste the acid on his tongue-

“Just get your helmet off first.  Trust me.”

“Hunk,  _ stop talking.” _

The words came out harsher than he’d meant them too, urgency overriding his politeness.  In an instant, Shiro activated the jawblades on his lion and tore open the side of a ship.

Silence reigned.  “Dude,” Lance muttered, an immediate protective admonishment.

Shiro winced.  “I know you were trying to help,” he muttered.  “I apologize.”

“No, it wasn’t cool of me,” Hunk disagreed.  “If you’re already feeling sick, I wasn’t helping.  I’m sorry.”

“Everyone’s very sorry,” Pidge snapped back.  “Look, I’m all for playing nice, but the less time we spend on this the more time we spend on ending this sooner.  Then Shiro can be sick like a responsible paladin - in bed.”

Keith made a low noise. “Agreed,” he replied.  “This will be over quicker if we form Voltron.”

“We could use my bayard,” Hunk pointed out.  “It’ll clear out most of this pretty quick.  The rest will be clean-up.”

The suggestion hung in the air, each of them silent as they waited for Shiro’s call.

It should have been a no brainer.  But Shiro was all too aware of what they’d feel when they were connected to him.  Besides, Shiro had trouble keeping locked onto Black, much less four more minds.

But the allure of a quick finish was too strong to ignore.  “Let’s do it,” he replied, forcing his voice into confident command with long practice.

They connected immediately, but it was a rocky start.  The first touch of them made Shiro’s mind haze, his headache strengthening suddenly.  But he scrambled and caught out, Black guiding him through like he was taken by the hand.

Once in the connection, it was literally all Shiro could do to hold on.

“Shiro!” Lance called, voice rough.  “You said it was small.”

It had been when Shiro hadn’t been thinking about it.  Before the strain of the Black Lion and Voltron pulled him in too many directions.

Now, his headache was full on blinding, sparks flying behind his eyes.

Now, his stomach was turning on itself violently, and Shiro had to close his throat against the gags and heaves that wanted to escape.

Now, his muscles shook from the strain, all of him locked up in an effort to keep upright and in the moment.

In short, Shiro was completely stuck in place, unable to do more than breathe.

"Hunk," Keith called, snapping into action.  "Activate your bayard."

Pidge's frustration washed over them all.  "Are we sure?  We're really not stable, and keeping it together is hard enough without using the shoulder cannon."

Taking a deep breath, Shiro tried to agree, but nausea choked him instead.  He flashed his agreement down anyway, head swimming too much to create words.

"Keith's right," Lance agreed, and it was a sign of worry that it didn't sound awkward from him at all.  "We're this far, we can't just stand here and hope we don't get attacked.  Shiro's only going to get worse."

Shit, he never should have done this to them.

Vision hazing, Shiro curled upon himself, knees up to his chest.  Why was it so much worse, now?  He'd had a fever before, certainly, but nothing like this.

There was a rumble of an answer, and for a moment Shiro couldn't see the inside of the lion, but instead colors, energy, bright, moving, twisting, falling, colliding, fusing, trading-

It was a chaotic haze and Shiro's head pounded from it.  He closed his eyes against it, but he could still see it, and it made him feel like he was tilting and swirling.

Motion sickness, Shiro realized.  He'd never felt it like this.  During training for the Kerberos mission he'd gotten close, but this made him feel like he was going to spin out of control and never stop until his head came off.

Energy.  The word echoed in his head.  Quintessence.  It provides, and it is pulled.

Focusing again, Shiro was vaguely aware of voices, of intents and feelings, shared and separate, combined and focused.  The yellow-blue-green patch brightened, going painfully bright.  No, only the yellow was, and it travelled up, past green, until it was nearly at Shiro's face.  It flashed, and Shiro felt a tug, saw energy come from all of them and then leave.

Immediately after, Shiro slumped in his seat, and the vision left him.  He was back in the cockpit.

That was why.  The lions drew on them, both when they were individuals and when they were Voltron.  Now it wasn't just the Black Lion he was working with and strengthening, but all of them.

The Black Paladin was the head.  Shiro knew that.  He'd been told it from the beginning.  But he hadn't realized the strain of it.  The Black Lion tugged so much, and then the others on top of it...

It was energy his body didn't have to fight.  

It was energy Shiro needed.

But he hadn't had a choice.

"Is that enough?" Hunk asked.  "We can do another, if-"

"No," Shiro managed, and his voice sounded terrible, even to his own ears.  "Can't."

Just like that, they all separated.  Shiro just didn't have the energy to help keep them together.

He wasn't a limb.  Shiro was the torso and head, the connection.  He couldn't maintain it anymore.

Was he floating?  Was Black out of energy too?

No, he could still feel the chair under him.  Shiro was just still out.  He was losing it, floating away, his head heavy despite that, his lids trying to crash down, all of him torn in different directions, bubbling away in the armor.

A jolt startled him for a moment, and he vaguely heard the others talking, heard calls and commands, but he couldn't understand the words with his head so clogged and his mind so far away.

"You're okay," someone said, and Shiro didn't know who.  He didn't think they'd spoken.

Black?

Something tugged on Shiro's helmet, and he gazed up hazily to see Lance there.  Frowning, he placed his hand on Shiro's forehead, then pulled it back with a curse.  Shiro wasn't sure if it wasn't in English or if he was just too hazy to understand right now.

Meeting his gaze, Lance tried for a shaky smile.  "You're warm," he told Shiro, voice suggesting that Shiro should share the joke with him.

What was the joke?

Shiro stared back uncomprehendingly.

"Uh, I might need some help here," Lance called, looking back.  Yellow flashed over Shiro's eyes and he clenched them closed.  It was too bright, for one, and he was afraid of having his energy pulled so strongly again.  It would hurt.  It would leave him feeling worse.  Shiro didn't want it.  He protested when he felt a pull, kicking against it, but he started to float again-

Wait, not float.  He was held from behind.  Cracking his eyes back open, Shiro gaped at Hunk.  

Hunk smiled back down.  "I got you," he said.  "I can carry you, I promise.  I'm pretty strong."

Oh.  Okay.

Shiro leaned against Hunk's shoulder, utterly trusting.  If Hunk said he could, then he could, no questions asked.

Distantly, he heard Pidge talking fast, the way she always did when she was nervous.  From the lack of any audible response, she was probably on the comms.  Who was she talking to?  Were Allura and Coran okay?

Hunk took a step, and Shiro suddenly forgot about that.

"Um," he managed, struggling again.

Hunk held on tighter.  "Hey, I got you, remember?  You're not that heavy."

That wasn't the problem.  Why didn't he understand?  Each time Shiro tried to shift it made the problem worse.  He let out choked noises as he tried to communicate past the way his stomach was attempting to crawl out of him.

"Hunk, put him down," Keith said.  "He's going to-"

Shiro threw up.

Rather than let go, Hunk held out, even as he made a low, unhappy noise of his own.  "Guess I deserved that for before," he muttered.

"No," Shiro murmured. not really remembering what they were talking about, but not liking Hunk's tone.  "You did well.  M'proud.  All of you."

A burst of noise interrupted them, and Coran came in, bright oranges and blues and too much.  Shiro tried to hide his face in Hunk's chest, but the smell and hard planes of the armor made it uncomfortable.

"Here you go, Number One, a stretcher just for you.  I wish you'd said something!  Piloting a lion is a dangerous thing while you're already using your energy for something else, you know.  Why, I remember one time that King Alfor-"

Coran continued to chatter as he worked, getting Shiro onto the stretcher.  There was a flash of discomfort at being flat on his back on something medical, but Shiro was too tired to chase it.  Coran's chatter pushed it away anyway- there was no way he was somewhere bad if Coran was telling a silly story.  Around him, he could hear the other paladins, subdued but there.

Shiro was safe.

With that in mind, he drifted.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she (I) wrote!


End file.
